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BAR HARBOR, FROM THIRLSTANE 


AT MOUNT DESERT 


A SUMMER'S SOWING 





MILDRED FAIRFAX 


Author of “ In the Vult7ires' Nest; or. Huguenots at the Court of 
France in 1572," etc. 


“Is It Christ’s light is too divine, 

We dare not hope like him to shine? 

But see, around his dazzling shrine 
Earth’s gems the fire of heaven hath caught; 
Martyrs and saints — each glorious day 
Dawning in order on our way — 

Remind us, how our darksome clay 
May keep th’ eternal warmth 
That our Redeemer brought.’’ 


BOSTON AND C 

Congregational SiunDags^cfiool 




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Copyright, 1893, 

By Congregational Sunday-School and Publishing Society 


Jnscnbeti 


TO MY TWO COUSINS H. E. S. AND G. L. Sc 
AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY 
OF 

L. H. AND W. R. VON W. 

“ Once more I stand upon the fir-crowned highland, 
Where fragrance lingers in the ambient air — 
Watching the white surf leap on cliff and island, 
Watching the white gulls swoop to rocks laid hare. 
Counting the sails that fieck the sparkling ocean. 
Hearing all nature stir in rhythmic motion.” 








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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I. On the Way to Mount Desert 7 

II. Basil’s Kesolve 12 

III. Tidings 22 

IV. A Cove on the Bay 30 

V. Brook in the Meadow 35 

VI. Along the Shore 43 

VII. Green Mountain 61 

VIII. Awaiting the Sunset 61 

IX. On Bar Island 81 

X. A Summer’s Day 90 

XI. Borne by the Sea Gull 100 

XII. Olga Viazemski 108 

XIII. Through the Gorge 120 

XIV. Saint Gudule’s Lantern 130 

XV. Caught in the Fog 140 

XVI. Madame de Chavigni 145 

XVII. The Story of the Gorse 151 

XVIII. In Duck Brook Glen 166 

XIX. Sowing to the Wind 178 

XX. The Indian Encampment 188 

XXI. Water Lilies from Echo Lake 198 

XXII. The Towpath 207 

XXIII. The Bells of Ivan 217 

XXIV. After the Gale 227 

XXV. Above the Naiad’s Pool 237 

XXVI. Ullescliffe 247 

XXVII. A Dilemma 257 

XXVIII. “ Sunset and Evening Star ” 268 

XXIX. On the Heights 279 

XXX. A Summer Evening 292 

XXXI. A Sunday at Bar Harbor 303 

• XXXII. The Close of a Brief Day 812 

XXXIII. Told at Ullescliffe 316 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXXIV. RUSTOFP 326 

XXXV. Reaping the Whirlwind 340 

XXXVI. Flight 344 

XXXVII. “Clear Shining after Rain” 354 

XXXVIII. Golden-rod and Scarlet Sumach . . . 359 

XXXIX. Finis 368 


AT MOUNT DESERT: 

A SUMMER’S SOWING. 


CHAPTER I. 

ON THE WAT TO MOUNT DESERT. 

M ISS PATTY CONWAY did not like addressing 
strangers ; but the refined loveliness of the 
girl of twenty, graceful, gray-eyed, and sunny-haired, 
and the evident loneliness of her position, were irre- 
sistibly attractive to the sight and sympathy of the 
old lady. From time to time a tall brother came and 
spoke to her, then carelessly wandered away to a wild- 
looking group of fashionable young men who were 
lounging on the steamer’s side smoking and laughing. 
They bore painful marks of dissipation, and the 
young girl watched them anxiously, when she was not 
wistfully studying the shore of Maine. Bound for 
Mount Desert, the deck of the steamer was thronged 
with passengers comfortably established with shawls, 
books, and lunch baskets, to whom the white caps 
on Penobscot Bay afforded pleasure, not discomfort. 
Miss Conway’s maid sat primly by her side, holding 
her mistress’ wrap and traveling bag. 

The coast line of Maine abounds in beauty and 
variety. Cape and bay and headland charm the eye ; 
islands lie along the picturesque shore where caves 


7 


8 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


resound with the booming of mighty waves reeling in 
with deafening roar ; great cliffs rise savage in grand- 
eur and unassailable in might ; while in loveliest con- 
trast a stretch of sparkling sand fringing a green 
meadow lies just beyond. Under the summer sky 
how radiant was the scene to one who loved nature as 
did Miss Conway ! 

The steamer, crossing Penobscot Bay, moved on to 
Deer Island, and then, ever on and on, in and out of 
the granite ledges of islands green with spruce and 
fir. Passing York Narrows, with Black Island loom- 
ing in the north and the beacon on Bass Harbor Head 
standing as her sentinel, the first entrancing glimpse 
of Mount Desert was revealed to Hester Wilmerding. 
Her heart throbbed quickly ; her eyes darkened with 
excitement. 

Miss Patty read the meaning of the lovely face in 
a moment, and rising approached the young girl. 

“May I speak to you, my dear?” asked the kind 
old voice. 

Hester at once acknowledged the greeting by leaving 
her seat and turning courteously to the lady. 

The bright face and charming smile touched Miss 
Patty, who believed in “ the leadings of Providence,” 
and that opportunities for cheering or helping another 
were their indications. 

“ I saw from your face you were enjoying the 
scenery and my heart warmed to you, my dear. I 
have been to Mount Desert many, many summers. If 
you will permit me, I shall be glad to show you 
what I most delight in there.” 


OiV THE WAY TO MOUNT DESEBT. 


9 


“ How very, very kind ! ” responded Hester eagerly. 
“It is our first visit. Basil insisted on our coming, 
and I was so rejoiced. If only ” — She paused, her 
eyes wandering to the gay, reckless group, of which 
her brother evidently was the center. 

The steamer was drawing ever nearer her destina- 
tion, the full chain of the Mount Desert mountains 
unfolding to their gaze. 

“ They greet me as dear old friends,” said Miss 
Conway in her sweet, blithe voice. “ There is West- 
ern Mountain and Beach Mountain covered still with 
forest ; then Dog Mountain and Robinson’s. Do you 
see the vast, irregular mass of Sargent with its three 
peaks? The Little Twin nestles by it in the hollow 
on the southeast. Then comes Pemetic ; and last, 
the long slopes of beautiful Green Mountain, with the 
Summit House on its top, and the ridge of Newport 
just seen against the sky beyond.” 

Hester listened intently. How wondrously beauti- 
ful it was — such a sky of azure, such ceaseless light 
and shadow on the mountains ! 

Miss Conway continued indicating various points 
that her loving eye recognized immediately — shel- 
tered cove and sunny nook ; steep precipice and 
green meadow ; a wild mountain gorge and calm 
mountain lake. Endless was the contrast and vari- 
ety girdled by the summer sea. 

The steamer paused at Southwest Harbor, the first 
landing made at Mount Desert, where many of the 
passengers left the boat, preferring the tranquil village 
to the gay crowd at Bar Harbor. 


10 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


‘‘ It might be better for us to remain in this peace- 
ful spot,” said Hester. “ I begged Basil to think of 
it, but he was sure we would much prefer the life and 
movement farther on. Shall we?” she asked, turning 
to Miss Conway with the confiding glance of a child 
seeking guidance. 

One can be very quiet even at Bar Harbor,” 
returned the old lady, smiling, “ and very much the 
reverse. Your brother is doubtless hoping to have his 
friends around him there.” 

A look of anxiety clouded Hester’s sweet eyes. 

“ Basil is five years older than I, but I often feel as 
if I were his mother.” 

Miss Patty impulsively extended her hand. “ I 
know all concerning your cares, my dear child. I had 
a brother who cost me many perplexing hours and 
sleepless nights.” 

Tears dimmed the old lady’s eyes, and for a moment 
Hester could see nothing of sea or sky. But her heart 
was comforted. She had found a friend, she was 
sure, one who could help her and lighten troubles 
often overwhelming. 

Miss Conway recovered her composure by an effort, 
and again interested her companion in the passing 
scene. 

“So far as a fine view is concerned. Bar Harbor’s 
position was a mistaken choice. The mountains there 
are not at their best, nor the Atlantic. It was the 
remoteness of the spot, I presume, that led to its 
selection ; but what varied and glorious excursions 
are at your command ! ” 



BAR HARBOR. 




1 











ON THE WAY TO MOUNT DESEBT. 11 


Southwest Harbor was receding and Somes’ Sound, 
with its spacious haven and lofty cliffs penetrating 
the island for seven miles, was caught in a momen- 
tary glimpse. Before Southwest Harbor had melted 
into haze. Miss Patty narrated the story of Mount 
Desert’s noble Jesuit colony at Fernald’s Point, sent 
forth from France to seek and Christianize the In- 
dians in the reign of Louis XIII ; the cruel plunder of 
their mission station and the murder, or captivity, by 
the English pirate, of their priests. 

On and on glided the steamer, passing Otter Cliffs, 
dark Thunder Cave, the shining sands of Newport 
Beach, and the magnificent overhanging precipice of 
Great Head — a natural fortress, against which the 
mighty force of the Atlantic casts itself in vain. 

Hester Wilmerding, fascinated by the spell of this 
marvelous scene, stood silently leaning against the 
steamer’s rail, beautiful Frenchman’s Bay opening 
before her. 

Miss Patty pointed out Anemone Cave, gigantic 
Schooner-head Kock, and Spouting Horn — a cleft at 
the summit of the Head, Balance Rock, and Newport 
Mountain towering skyward, where Miss Conway told 
her she could climb to the top through fragrant woods 
of fir and pine and emerge to look down, down, down 
two thousand feet into the surging sea. 

They were entering Bar Harbor now, gay with 
Indian canoes, yachts, fishing smacks and boats. An 
eager crowd from the hotels and cottages gathered on 
the wharf to welcome friends or see the landing of 
the strangers. 


CHAPTER II. 


BASIL S RESOLVE, 


Y an agreeable chance, the rooms of Miss Con- 



I ) way and those Basil Wilmerding had engaged 
were in the same hotel. Hester needed only this 
arrangement for perfect content. She already clung 
to Miss Patty as a haven of refuge and felt as if she 
had known her always. 

The long veranda was crowded at the moment of 
their arrival. It is one of the customs at Bar Har- 
bor, after each meal, to gather there discussing the 
weather, deciding routes and excursions, exchanging 
books, and comparing fancy work. Hester wondered 
how one could waste time embroidering linen or satin 
when the ocean and mountains were calling, calling 
to those who should have eyes to see, ears to hear, 
and hearts to feel their majesty and beauty. She 
soon found that, with rare exceptions, only a few 
days were needed in that magic realm to displace the 
needle by absorption in yachting parties, buckboard 
parties, picnics, tennis, long walks, mountain climb- 
ing, and expeditions along the beautiful shore in birch- 
bark canoes with a deerskin to sit on and a veritable 
Indian in the stern. 

Hester’s room was within a few doors of Miss Con- 
way’s. She was debating whether she might seek her 
and why Basil had not yet appeared, when her brother 


12 


BASIU8 BE SOLVE. 


13 


with a quick knock turned the handle of her door and 
entered. A great change had passed over him. Still 
excited, but with a calmness of manner new to Hester, 
he said : — 

“I have something to reveal — a profound secret, 
remember ! I know I can trust you. You often in- 
quired why I insisted on visiting Bar Harbor. Our 
grandfather is here in his own cottage, very ill. Dr. 
Duncan thought it just to give me a chance and 
wrote me.” 

Hester was mute, but her face had become pallid. 
Unconsciously she clasped her hands while listening to 
Basil. 

“ Say something — do ! ” cried her brother. 

“ ‘ A chance ’ ? What do you mean ? ” 

“An opportunity to alter grandfather’s unwarrant- 
able resolution. All his immense property is willed 
away from us because he would not forgive the mar- 
riage of his only daughter. I have debts ” — 

“Yes, I know,” murmured Hester, her eyes sad 
and her lips trembling. 

“You know? ” retorted Basil disdainfully. “You 
do not know a tithe of what I owe ! If Grandfather 
Harcourt carries his revenge to the grave, we will be 
almost penniless. Do you know what that means? ” 

“ I can work,” said Hester bravely. 

“Work! Now remember to conceal that we are 
related to Mr. Harcourt. I am to appear at Ulles- 
cliffe Cottage as Dr. Duncan’s second nurse and do 
what I can for and with grandfather.” 

“ O Basil, you can do nothing I ” 


14 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ I can do a great deal — only give me a chance.” 

“ But he has not noticed us for years ; he refused to 
see me when I last called, sending the message, ‘I 
have no grandchildren.’ ” 

“ O Hester, Hester ! despair, determination will 
suggest some expedient that will win him. He must 
not, must not will his estate away from us ! He shall 
not — shall not!” Basil’s clenched hand was dashed 
violently on the back of a chair and his face became 
white and determined. “ Only give me your good 
wishes, Hester. All depends on the next few weeks, 
days, or even hours. I have so changed, and it is so 
long since grandfather has seen me, that I shall enter 
his presence a stranger free to win his interest, per- 
haps affection. Good-by ! ” 

“You are coming back to-night?” 

“ No. I shall remain at Ullescliffe. The head 
nurse is ill. What good fortune for me I I accept 
his removal as an auspicious omen. You shall pos- 
sess everything you wish — some day.” 

Basil stooped and carelessly kissed his sister’s pale 
cheek. She clasped his arm with both hands. 

“ O Basil, you terrify me ! ” 

“Foolish child! Trust me, dear; your just rights 
shall be respected.” 

A brief, mirthless laugh, and Basil Wilmerding un- 
clasped his sister’s hands and quickly closed the door 
behind him. 

Hester stood still, her young face smitten by pain 
and anxiety, her heart throbbing violently. 

“Oh, what would our mother think? what would 


BASIL’S BE SOLVE, 


15 


mother think ? ” she was asking herself. She had no 
power to change Basil’s wild, desperate whim. A 
prayer fled heavenward — a cry for help and guid- 
ance. Poor child ! she was so alone and her heart 
was yearning so pitifully for the sweet mother, so 
tender and wise, who had always known what was 
right, and possessed the courage to do only the right 
when it was shown her. Hester possessed her brave, 
unflinching spirit — one of the most precious inherit- 
ances a child can receive from a mother. 

Miss Conway’s voice was asking admittance. Hes- 
ter hastened to receive the old lady, who, equipped 
for a drive, sought her companionship. 

“ How very kind ! I will join you in one moment.” 

The well-built, commodious streets of Bar Harbor, 
containing flnely appointed hotels and business blocks, 
were not interesting to Hester. She scarcely glanced 
at these indications of a prosperous town and the 
crowds of tourists walking or driving. Under the 
bluest of skies, clear as crystal, she longed to be near 
the sea. 

On sped Miss Conway’s comfortable buckboard, 
guided by a driver who allowed his horses. Mount 
Desert fashion, to rush uphill as fast as down, and 
who indicated and named, in a breathless manner, 
every new point of interest since Miss Conway’s last 
summer. 

One spacious, picturesque cottage possessed for 
Hester a painful interest. 

“ Yonder, at Ullescliffe, lies a sick gentleman,” said 


16 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


the driver. “ His riches do not give him ease. They 
say he could pay gold for every moment’s freedom 
from pain ; but the doctors can’t save him.” 

“Who is he?” asked Miss Conway, while Hester 
turned toward the sea, shrinking from the name. 

“A Mr. Harcourt, madam. He is a fine and pleas- 
ant gentleman. I drove him many an hour when 
he first came to Bar Harbor, and he always paid 
me double. Heigho ! ” and honest William Madden 
heaved a sigh as he recalled Mr. Harcourt’s past 
liberality. 

Hester remembered the refined face and aquiline 
features of her grandfather, his air of “grand seign- 
eur,” his lavish expenditure, of which she had so 
often heard. Was he generous to all save his nearest 
kin? After all, might it not be right for Basil to 
seek to win him to what was only just toward his 
grandchildren ? Momentarily relieved from a burden 
of doubt, Hester became intensely aware of the won- 
drous blending of rare and lovely color on mountain, 
sea, and shore. 

Descending from the buckboard, she stood by Miss 
Conway on a battlement of noble, lofty cliffs and 
gazed out on the lonely splendor of blue sea and azure 
sky. Scarcely a sail was visible. The few ships, gliding 
away, away, and fading on the eye, possessed a charm 
for Hester. . Below, the blue-green sea was surging in 
seething masses of snow, thundering madly against 
the cliffs, breaking over the rocks — a wild, ceaseless 
tumult, inexpressibly exhilarating. Foam-white gulls 
were fioating tranquilly above the clashing din. Sweet 


BA8W8 BE80LVE. 


17 


was the cool, briny air through which their strong wings 
bore them in powerful and graceful flight to remote 
nests on the rocky, wind-swept heights. 

Hester, who delighted in Mrs. Browning’s exquisite 
little poem and was seeing that day her first silvery 
gull, was entranced, and did not hear Miss Patty’s 
comments on the tourists who, arrayed in broad- 
brimmed hats and picturesque costumes of blue or 
dark-red flannel, were driving up or descending the 
cliffs ; the ladies, with slender feet encased in stout 
walking shoes, carrying sun umbrellas and attended 
by brothers, sons, or husbands, were a large and 
merry group. 

Many of the summer residents — owners of the 
costly “ cottages” — had also driven to those breezy 
heights ‘that afternoon, and at once recognized and 
approached Miss Conway with many demonstrations 
of delight. Hester, drawn away from the gulls and 
their beloved sea to be introduced to these friends, 
tried to command her attention and not wish herself 
back on the edge of the great, dark cliff. 

“I saw you were watching the gulls,” said Jack 
Bolton, a youth of fifteen or sixteen, who, with his 
mother, sister, and cousin, had gathered around Miss 
Conw'ay. ‘‘ I hate all that talking, don’t you? I did 
not wish to drive up here, but to go off in my boat 
to Schooner Head, or over to Bar Island, w^here the 
Canoe Club have a fine house and are preparing for 
their annual parade.” 

“ But the view from these cliffs is so beautiful,” re- 
sponded Hester. 


18 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


“ I like it better lower down.” 

“From your own boat, you mean?” returned Hes- 
ter, smiling. 

“Yes. And this is your first visit to Mount Desert, 
I heard you say. You have an endless variety to 
enjoy ; 1 am not speaking of the people, mind you. 
You will not find them so charming as the gulls you 
are longing to watch this moment.” 

Hester laughed. “ Am I so rude as to give you an 
impression that I am not enjoying your conversation ? ” 

“ Of course you care nothing for me ; but I was 
attracted to you because I saw you were not one of 
the silly girls who only come to Bar Harbor to show 
their gowns. You will like my cousin Nelly Armi- 
tage ; she’s not one of the ‘ girls of the day’ either.” 

Hester smiled. 

“ You love this wild, salt air and roaring sea and 
the snowy gulls, don’t you? So do I. I can’t like 
society ways, with no truth or heart in anything,” 
continued Jack. 

“ Perhaps ” — 

“Perhaps I’ll show the island to you, you mean? 
That I ’d like to do ; and I will. We live here in the 
summer. Miss Conway will be bringing you to Bay- 
view — our cottage. There ! that ’s another bit of 
pride and affectation. It ’s no ‘ cottage,’ but a very 
handsome villa, as all the ‘ cottages ’ are on Mount 
Desert.” 

Hester, much amused with this odd, loquacious 
youth, — she little knew how glum and silent he was 
usually, — glanced at the fair young cousin whose 


BASIL'S BESOLVB. 


19 


hands were laden with fragrant gray-green Mount 
Desert grasses. She was dividing the bunch and 
handed it to Hester with a smile. 

“ For me ! Oh, how delicious ! ” 

“ You ’ll find all Nelly gives is sweet,” quoth Jack. 
“I must bring you golden-rod; it’s coming into 
bloom. Good-by, Miss Wilmerding ; I ’ll not forget 
to show you Mount Desert from my canoe ; ” and Jack 
Bolton assisted Miss Conway and herself into their 
buckboard, the former promising Mrs. Bolton soon to 
bring her young friend over to Bay view. 

Hester was very lonely and restless that evening, 
though Miss Patty was all attention. She retired to 
her room deeply grateful for so much unexpected 
kindness, to find a pile of new books on her table, 
placed there by the considerate old lady ; but in her 
present mood even they could not divert her troubled 
thoughts. 

Under a full moon. Bar Harbor was a town of 
silver. Hester longed to be again on the cliffs that 
she might see the radiant Atlantic, where ships were 
coming and going, their sails snowy in the moonbeams. 
Were the beautiful gulls still floating, or had they 
folded their wings for slumber? How the perfume of 
the Mount Desert grasses filled her chamber ! What 
an enchanting island, if only — And then her anx- 
ious thoughts fled to Ullescliffe Cottage where she saw 
the delicate features of a weary face and Basil watch- 
ing. What was he saying? what doing? Was he 
a tender nurse? Poor grandfather — her mother’s 


20 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


father ! Hester’s heart melted over him. She longed 
to soothe his sufferings. He had vast wealth ; yet 
how poor he was ! Love did not kneel by his pillow 
or clasp his hand or sympathize in a single emo- 
tion. Did he know of the divine love? He could not 
have so closed his heart to his only daughter and her 
children if that celestial tenderness had softened an 
inflexible nature. In a simple trust she committed 
her two nearest of kin to the enfolding care of an 
unseen protection. From heaven would fall a silvery 
dew of influence to touch and heal, when she was 
powerless to reach or minister. 

While musing thus, and somewhat comforted, the 
lovely face of a lady in deep mourning rose un- 
bidden — a friend of Miss Conway, who had inter- 
ested her from the moment of reaching Bar Harbor. 
Young as she still was, a desolating sorrow had swept 
over her, leaving many traces of the storm. 

“Madame de Chavigni is a Creole from Louisiana, 
my dear,” Miss Patty had explained later. “ 1 knew 
her charming grandmother in old New Orleans days 
before the war. I am so glad to meet Constance here. 
She has known the extreme of sorrow.” 

Because of her own experience of anxiety and 
suffering, Hester’s ardent, sensitive heart unclosed its 
door to this attractive stranger. Falling asleep, she 
beheld her in a sinking boat on a lonely sea, extending 
beseeching hands that Hester strove to touch and 
clasp, but could not reach. Then it was her gi-and- 
father, whose blanched face, gazing appealingly, 
sought her aid. He was dying on a Russian waste of 


BASIU8 BE80LVE. 


21 


snow and she was powerless to warm his freezing 
form. The vision faded as her tears fell over her own 
pitiful incapacity. Again she was by the shore, a 
fluttering sea gull in her hands. She could feel its 
throbbing heart and read the appeal in its stricken, 
beseeching eyes. “No, my pretty gull, I’ll not de- 
tain you ! You cannot belong to me or any human 
creature. You belong to the winds and the sea, the 
spray and the foam, the wild storm and the tranquil, 
free, and sunlit day.” Her hands released the inno- 
cent bird, which rapturously drifted off and away, its 
white wings gleaming against the dazzling azure of 
the sky. 


CHAPTER III. 


TIDINGS 



IHE Atlantic, a great reflecting mirror, doubled 


-L the radiance of the sky. Hester, waking in a 
flood of sunshine, was thrilled with a hope of good 
tidings from Basil. There must be a note ; he could 
not leave her with no line to cheer the day. 

“ You have an appetite, I trust, my dear,” said kind 
Miss Patty, hastening to greet her. “ What a morn- 
ing it is ! Such sunlight and such air ! Do look at 
the sky ! ” 

Hester joyously assented, though her eyes and mind 
were preoccupied, watching each person who entered 
the dining room. Basil might come, or he might send 
a note. 

Neither Basil nor a note appeared. 

‘‘Where is your brother, Hester?” 

The sudden question startled the girl. The truth — 
only the truth — she had always spoken. But how 
could she utter it now? Was it not right to evade a 
direct answer ? 

Miss Conway’s face was grave. She thought Basil 
had passed the night with his wild friends, and his 
sister was naturally troubled and disinclined to respond. 

Regretting she had questioned her. Miss Conway 
immediately referred again to the loveliness of the 
morning and suggested a walk or drive. 


TIDINGS. 


23 


“ Dear Miss Conway,” said Hester, turning her 
sweet, truthful eyes toward her, “ I cannot confide 
in you as I desire ; but believe me, Basil has been 
engaged in a most unselfish occupation.” 

“Oh, my dear, pardon me!” exclaimed Miss 
Conway. 

“ Indeed I have nothing to pardon. You had every 
reason to believe the contrary, from seeing Basil’s 
companions on the day of our arrival. Besides, almost 
unconsciously, I revealed some troubled thoughts. 
Basil has a kind, warm heart. He has gone to be a 
comfort, I trust, to some one who needs him. Ah ! ” 
and Hester half rose. 

Jack Bolton, holding a note, stood within the door, 
asking a question of the head waiter. Then he strode 
straight to Hester, laying a sealed envelope in her 
eager hand. 

“ Good- morning. Miss Conway ! good-morning. Miss 
Wilmerding ! ” 

“ Who gave you this note, Mr. Bolton? ” 

“ I ’m ‘ Jack,’ if you please.” 

“ Then — Jack, who gave you this note? ” 

“ A boy who sprang from a doctor’s carriage. He 
gazed at this hotel and seemed distracted. I was pass- 
ing. ‘ Are you going in ? ’ he asked. 

“ ‘ Do I look so?’ 

“ ‘Yes.’ 

“ ‘ Your penetration is at fault.’ 

“ The boy turned the note over and over. ‘ It is 
for a Miss Wilmerding,’ he said, ‘ and very im- 
portant.* 


24 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ I took pity on him. It’s not my way, as you ’ll 
find ; but the boy seemed troubled. ‘ Give me the 
note : I ’ll see it ’s delivered.’ He yielded the note, for 
my visage inspired confidence.” 

“He did right to trust you!” exclaimed Hester 
warmly. 

Jack slightly bowed. “Now I’ll permit you to 
read your treasure. Miss Conway, are you not coming 
to our cottage this morning ? ” 

“If Miss Wilmerding will accompany me. In the 
absence of her brother I cannot permit loneliness.” 

“Perhaps it is etiquette for my mother, sister, and 
cousin to call first on you. I ’ll send them I ” and away 
fied Jack, Hester’s smile seeming to incite him to 
swifter speed. 

“Now, my dear. I’ll gladly excuse you. I am 
going to my room : when you are ready, come to me.” 

Hester, grateful and eager, mutely thanked her 
friend and hastened away to learn Basil’s tidings : — 

Ullescliffe Cottage. 

All doing well — better than I expected. Grandfather has not 
recognized me and does not appear to dislike my presence. He 
grumbled at the absence of the head nurse, but when I was intro- 
duced by Dr. Duncan as “Fortescue” — my middle name being 
unknown to him — he accepted my services graciously. He is 
much changed: emaciated, pale, and silent. But what a picture 
he is I While he sleeps or meditates, I watch his fine face — so 
sensitive, intellectual, and kindly. Is he obdurate flint only on 
one point? a monomaniac? I am all eagerness to apply the open- 
ing wedge and mention his nearest kin. I long for an inspiration 
to reveal the right moment and the right words I I did not sleep 
last night — there was medicine to give every half hour and a 
cheery wood fire on a wide hearth to be replenished. His man- 
servant, who seemed quite worn out, I dispatched to bed at 


TIDINGS, 


25 


raklHight. Grandfather seldom addresses me. He lies passive, 
but sutlers much. Sometimes I think the pain is mental. Ilis 
face is often stricken by deep anguish. Is conscience, remem- 
brance, torturing him? 

Be out ill the air as much as possible. Tell Miss Conway I 
trust you entirely to her. She is an oldtime gentlewoman; I saw 
that at a glance. 

Dear Hester, have a note ready when Dr. Duncan calls. He has 
some patients in your hotel. He will ask for you. b. p. w. 

Hester poured forth her heart on paper. When, an 
hour later, the doctor sent up his card, her letter was 
addressed and sealed. In walking attire she entered 
one of the reception rooms, to be greeted so cordially 
that her shyness vanished and she was able to speak 
as to a trusted friend. 

“ If Basil wins your grandfather. Miss Wilmerding, 
he is too really noble to retain the old grudge.” 

“ Have you hope? ” 

“ Much hope ! ” 

“How is he this morning?” 

“ More comfortable.” 

“ He has not recognized Basil? ” 

“ He has given no indication.” 

“Is there anything I can do to lighten the long, 
lonely hours ? ” 

“Nothing, I am sorry to say. Mr. Harcourt would 
not admit you.” 

“ Notwithstanding his indifference, my mother’s 
father is dear to me,” responded Hester with a break 
in her voice. 

“ We must wait. Let us be hopeful.” Then Dr. 
Duncan, taking Hester’s letter, went away, leaving 


26 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


the young girl cheered and in a mood to enjoy every 
gracious charm of the day. 

Never was view of sky, shore, and sea more exqui- 
site than that Hester enjoyed from Bayview, whither 
Mrs. Bolton drove her and Miss Conway “ to see one 
of the loveliest nooks of Mount Desert.” Each case- 
ment and veranda of the picturesque villa was awning- 
shaded. The spacious rooms opening into each other 
were charming in an unusual degree, for they had 
brought from their city home paintings, statuary, 
tasteful ornaments and furniture, books, a harp and 
a grand piano. The perfume and glow of flowers were 
everywhere. 

Miss Patty commented vivaciously. “You must 
commend Jack. He suggested, insisted, and finally 
sent on just what he pleased. Ah, here he is ! ” 

Jack, who had caught the last sentence, was in a 
cloudy mood. His morning’s urbanity had vanished. 

Hester watched him, amused by this new develop- 
ment of look and manner. 

“ Of all the uncourteous boys who ever existed, you 
are chief!” exclaimed Meta, when their visitors had 
departed. 

“ And after urging us to call at once. Jack ! ” ex- 
postulated his mother. “When the ladies returned 
with us, 3^ou seemed to have quite forgotten your 
having met them on the cliffs yesterday.” 

“What comment have you to offer, Nelly?” de- 
manded Jack with not one change of feature. 

Nelly smiled and shook her head. 

“ I am unworthy a comment? or, no language can 
express your disapproval?” 


TIDINGS. 


27 


Nelly refused to respoiKl. Jack shrugged his shoul- 
ders. Mrs. Bolton and Meta departed to a reception 
and then Jack sat down. 

“ I am waiting, Nelly.” 

“Waiting?” 

“ Yes ; I desire your opinion.” 

“ On what?” 

“ My deportment to my mother’s guests.” 

“ Why do you care for my opinion? ” 

“ Because I am interesting to myself, if to no other 
creature.” 

Nelly gazed wistfully at Jack. 

“ O Jack ! ” she said. 

“ Continue.” 

“Not while you are in that mood ! ” 

She rose and stood by one of the broad windows 
opening on the veranda. The translucent water of 
Frenchman’s Bay reflected the azure of the sky. Be- 
yond were the Sullivan Hills, and like a faint cloud in 
the east lay the peaks of Schoodic Mountain. Deli- 
cious was the air, warm the sunshine, as Nelly stepped 
out on the grassy bluff opposite the green shore of 
the mainland and the islands that rested birdlike on 
the bay. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Jack, who had followed her. 
“ Won’t there be a breeze when Meta knows I .forgot 
to mail her letters ! ” drawing five from his pocket and 
regarding them. “ Two, I perceive, are in your hand- 
writing, Nelly.” 

The girl’s cheeks flushed ; she had so wished those 
letters to leave Bar Harbor by the earliest mail ! 


28 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ They must await the evening’s post. Are they of 
the least importance ? ” 

The scoffing tone was trying, but Nelly did not 
retort. She was determined to meet Jack’s mood on 
the principle of the sun, not the wind. Never, in all 
her life, had she met a lad so utterly unbearable on 
certain occasions ; but so much the more necessary 
to oppose his cloud with sunlight. 

Jack moved on, Nelly just behind him. How tall 
and strong he was, not lacking in grace ! How agree- 
able and trustworthy ! if he only would — 

Jack had relapsed into an ungenial silence, tugging 
away at a mass of tangled strings, scowling as he 
worked. 

“ Jack, I think I can untangle that.” 

“Girls can’t do anything helpful or sensible.” 

“ Please let me try ! Are they fish lines ? ” 

“ The morning air has not blunted your penetra- 
tion,” still tugging at the lines and not looking up. 

“ I really wish to help you ; it will give me 
pleasure.” 

Amazed, Jack glanced at his cousin and invol- 
untarily smiled. This radiance utterly changed his 
face. One rarely saw it unless he had had a fine day’s 
fishing or shooting. 

Nelly extended her hand for the lines. 

“ Nonsense ! Did you ever hear of a girl who 
could untangle a lot of cord — after a boy had once 
knotted it ? ” 

“ I ’ll be the first then to perform that feat ! ” an- 
swered Nelly brightly. 


TIDINGS, 


29 


“How you girls do cling to an idea, when 'once 
you adopt it ! There — take it ! ” placing the tangle in 
Nelly’s hand. “ For pity’s sake don’t make more 
snarls for me to peg at ! If you do, mind ! I ’ll be 
even with you. 1 don’t comprehend your recpiest ; 
but it would be a sheer waste of time to ferret out a 
girl’s whims. And now — I’ll take you out in my 
boat.” 

“ Oh, will you? Don’t you wish to wait for Meta 
and Miss Forbes?” 

“I don’t wish to see Meta or Miss Forbes again 
this morning ! It was you I invited. But first play 
to me ! Your music has the effect of David’s harp 
on moody, reckless Saul.” 

The last sentence was murmured so low that Nelly 
scarcely caught it. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A COVE ON THE BAY. 

T ack strode back to the house to open the melo- 
dious grand piano for his cousin. Casting him- 
self in a big chair, he was utterly silent, save when he 
asked for the repetition of a certain Chopin 

“ I wish you would play it over and over and over, 
without a request ! Can’t you understand that it is 
like the sunset you watched yesterday? I saw you 
gaze and gaze — and heard you sigh too — with pleas- 
ure,” he added under his breath. 

The Polish music wakened all that was dreamy and 
poetic in Jack’s nature. Nelly felt this, wondering 
how deep the stream ran and wishing she possessed 
the key to this still unknown character. With sudden 
conviction she struck a chord, exclaiming mentally — 
“ I have found it ! ” Let the sequel prove if she was 
correct in her estimate of her cousin’s nature. 

But a few minutes were needed to reach the little 
private wharf below the cottage, and away glided Jack’s 
boat bearing him and Nelly over the blue shining water 
of the bay. They landed in Jack’s favorite cove very 
easily, for it was now half tide. Beaching the boat, 
they made their way over a low ledge of rock slippery 
with amber and crimson seaweed. Oh, the delight to 
Nelly of studying the crystal pools gleaming amidst 


30 


A COVE ON THE BAY. 


31 


it, the home of exquisite purple, emerald, and violet 
mosses and tiny shellfish enjoying therein their tran- 
quil life ! Seated on a rock shaggy and warm with 
dry seaweed, the two cousins gazed across the blue 
and sunlit width of Frenchman’s Bay. From Jack’s 
pocket came a sketching pad to which he rapidly 
and skillfully transferred the scene. 

“You ought to look from this cove in the autumn, 
Nelly, on the scarlet of the rock maple and sumach, 
the gold of the beech and birch, and rich dark green 
of the firs and pines. The pink feldspar warms the 
rocks as with a sunset bloom ; and the sea in those 
soft, bright, yet hazy days is mingled purple and blue, 
slowly breaking in silvery foam over the ledges, or 
dreamily curling up among the big evergreens along 
the shore.” 

Nelly listened spellbound. Was this the Jack 
of the morning — sullen, unapproachable, imprisoned 
within his crusty shell ? She revealed her appreciation 
by no word, but her lovely face was radiant as she 
hailed this unusual mood. It was the real Jack; the 
one she was determined to know and help into fuller 
sunlight. 

She drew a little book from her pocket. 

“Do you sketch too?” asked Jack, immediately 
interested. 

“ A very little.” 

“ Do let me see what you have.” 

“ This is not a sketching pad. It is a collection of 
Christina Rossetti’s shorter poems.” 

Jack gathered some of the brilliant little yellow 


32 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


shells that abound on the coast of Maine and crushed 
them in his hand. 

“Those poems are serious — religious,” he said, 
having glanced at the index. “ I thought only clergy- 
men carried that style of poetry. Don’t you take to 
that fad, Helen ! ” 

It was the first time he had given Nelly her real name. 

“ By the way, did it ever occur to you that calling 
me ‘Jack’ instead of earnest ‘John’ had a very 
demoralizing effect on my character? I am sure it 
made me first cousin to all the wild winds that blow — 
to the eagles, to the tameless creatures everywhere.” 
Then breaking into laughter he asked : — 

“ Were you wishing to read your Christina Rossetti 
in this pretty cove ? There is a Nereid’s grotto behind 
us, safe even from the rising tide.” 

“ I can find what I am searching for here,” replied 
Nelly, quite unruffled. 

“ Your Miss Rossetti’s name recalls Christine Nils- 
son. She sang ‘ Angels ever bright and fair,’ from 
one of Handel’s oratorios. It was the only religious 
music for which I ever cared. What a voice she had ! 
— a mountain voice; clear as crystal, brilliant as the 
stars, and sweet as a skylark’s ! ” 

“ I enjoyed it as you did.” 

“Did you?” responded Jack, pleased to watch 
Nelly’s blue eyes darkening with repressed enthusi- 
asm, and the tint of the wild-rose bloom on her 
cheeks. 

“ Since you appreciated my ‘ religious poem,’ I ’ll 
be gracious and listen to yours.” 


A COVE ON THE BAY. 


33 


“ Life and death are as natural and simple as sun- 
rise and sunset, Jack. Why should you close your 
mind to their remembrance ? Why live in three rooms 
in your house, when you possess a dozen whose win- 
dows are tightly barred and darkened, and in which, 
though they belong to you, you are still a stranger?” 

‘ ‘ In plain English what do you mean ? ” retorted 
Jack. 

The windows of my soul I throw 
Wide open to the sun, 

quoted Helen. 

“The sun is good,” was Jack’s only response. 

We close our eyes — the flowers bloom on; 

We murmur— but the corn ears fill; 

We choose the shadow, but the sun 
That casts it shines behind us still, 

again quoted Helen, her sweet face so peaceful and 
content that Jack gazed on her wonderingly. 

“ Are those lines from Christina Rossetti? ” 

“No; they are Whittier’s.” 

“ A promise is a promise. I promised to listen to 
your poem. Has it any connection with ‘ windows 
open to the sun’?” 

“ To live in its remembrance is to live in sunshine 
all the day.” 

“ Even for such a Saul as I?” 

“It will transform Saul. It is the voice of the 
divine One speaking to you and me.” 

“ I am listening.” 

Then Helen repeated Miss Rossetti’s poem : — 

“I bore with thee long weary days and nights.” 


34 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


An utter stillness succeeded, only broken by the 
splash of the waves softly breaking on the beach. 
Jack opened his sketching pad to transfer thereto a 
ship with spread sails, and a floating gull. 

Then he rose. “ Come, Helen ; it is time to return.” 

He had become impenetrable. A sailor would have 
characterized him by saying, “He has put up his 
dead-lights.” Not one syllable did he utter as he 
rowed up the lovely bay. 

Nelly was troubled. Had she driven him further 
from what she most loved by reading that poem ? The 
tranquil azure sky soothed her anxiety. She yielded 
to the charm, leaving that Saul-like spirit where alone 
celestial balm could touch and heal. 

“Recite something — like the calm of the day,” 
suddenly said Jack. 

The beach undulates softly and opens its hollows to the ripples 
of the sea. Each ripple comes up foamy at first, then smooths 
itself, leaves behind it the flocks of its white fleece, goin<^ to sleep 
upon the shore it has kissed. Another approaches, and beyond 
that another: then a whole troop, striping the blue water with em- 
broidery of silver. The ripples whisper low and you can scarcely 
hear them under the outcry of the distant billows: but the beach 
is sweet and smiling, softening its embrace the better to receive 
and caress those darling wavelets — the little children of the sea. 

“Thank you, Helen! That recalls my 
The clouded brow was serene, a smile curved the lips, 
the “dead-lights” were down. 


CHAPTER V. 


BROOK IN THE MEADOW, 


AR HARBOR was crowded with its usual sum- 



1 J mer multitude : literary men and women, artists, 
students, public officials seizing a brief rest, distin- 
guished men from every quarter — statesmen, soldiers, 
diplomats, the members of more than one foreign 
legation, charming women, girls, and children, and the 
inevitable fashionable clique that mars every summer’s 
gathering. Hester looked on as at a play, watching 
the shif tings of the kaleidoscopic scenes, but always 
mindful of Basil and her grandfather. How deeply 
she regretted that her brother was seeking to win the 
favor of the vindictive old man ! A haunting fear 
ever whispered that only evil would result from the 
means Basil might use in the desperate game he was 
playing. 

In the midst of her anxieties. Jack Bolton, bearing 
a bunch of golden-rod and purple asters, presented 
himself. 

“I promised to show you Mount Desert, Miss Wil- 
merding. That cannot be done in one morning, or in 
two ; but we can make a beginning. Shall we have a 
drive, walk, or row ? ” 

“ Oh, a walk, this morning ! What beautiful golden 
sprays and asters you have brought me ! It is very 
early for these flowers.” 


35 


36 


AT MOUNT DESERT 


“Yes; but every season a few come before their 
time. I’ll take you for a short walk over to the mill 
in the meadow, near Mount Kebo. Rippling there 
under the shadows is a merry brown brook, and the 
road runs across fields edged with blackberry vines 
and wild roses. If you choose, we can go on a little 
farther and climb Kebo. It is not much of a climb ; 
but you ’ll have a fine view of Bar Harbor and the bay 
and the slope and sweep of the lower hills.” 

So Jack and Hester, with some sprays of the earliest 
golden-rod and purple asters in her girdle, bade adieu 
to kind old Miss Patty, who gazed after the two, smiling 
in sympathy with their fresh youth and strength. 

The air was so delicious, the sky so blue, the grass 
so dry and warm ! They gathered sweet, shining 
blackberries and lovely wild roses, till the girl and 
Jack could carry no more ; then they sat down by 
the clear musical little brook to hearken to its song. 

“ Do you enjoy this as much as the cliffs?” 

“It is different. Jack, but as attractive. The grand 
view of sea and sky thrills : this quiets and charms 
by its repose.” 

“ You are glad you came to Mount Desert? ” 

“Very, very glad; and yet — sometimes I wish I 
had not come. The island is much more wonderful and 
beautiful than I dreamed it; but another reason” — 

“Oh, there’s always an annoying person to spoil 
everything ! ” returned Jack, recalling one or two of 
his own experiences. 

“Yes; that’s it.” 

“ I thought so. Mount Desert would always en- 


BBOOK IN THE MEADOW, 


37 


chant you from June to November, Why do men 
and women, supposed to be superior to all the rest 
of creation, always mar one’s comfort?’ 

“ Men and women are very imperfect beings. Your 
cousin charmed me.” 

“ Helen is one by herself ! She is as perfect as one 
can be.” 

“ Do you tell her so?” 

“No, indeed! If she became self-conscious, she 
would lose her beauty.” 

Hester laughed as she listened to this boy leaning 
against a tree and talking as if he had known her 
always. 

“ At my age, there is nothing but chaos. 1 don’t 
know what I was meant to be, or if I ’ll ever attain 
to anything worth being born for I You never felt 
that,” cried Jack. 

“ Indeed I have I” 

“ Is n’t it detestable?” 

“ Very.” 

“Are you at all what you thought you would be?” 

“ No.” 

“ Better or worse ? ” 

“ Worse.” 

“ No one would believe you ! How prettily those 
leaf shadows dance over your white gown I Let me 
sketch you I ” 

Out came the pad, and Jack worked away, silent 
and absorbed. 

“ That will do! I’ll finish it when I reach home. 
Did you ever read Christina Rossetti’s poems ? ” 


38 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“Yes.” 

“ Did you enjoy them? ” 

“ Very much. They made me think.” 

“ That ’s just it ! I wish I had never heard one of 
them ! I can’t wrench a certain poem from my mind. 
It’s true, too, 1 know; that’s the strength of it. 
Come ! let me show you the path up old Kebo.” 

From the Club House floated the strains of an 
orchestra. 

“ Oh, how lovely that is ! ” cried Hester. 

“ What is music — what docs it do to you ? ” 

“ It finds all the sad places in my heart. Jack; it 
forces me painfully to remember what I would most 
forget ; but it also delights, enchants, uplifts.” 

Jack nodded an assent to each remark. 

“ Do you feel thus ? ” 

“ Yes,” he murmured rather than spoke. “ Come ! 
we ’ll never reach the top.” 

“ Oh, but it ’s lovely — lovely ! ” exclaimed Hester, 
gazing down on Bar Harbor, the shining bay and the 
broken outline of many mountains against the sky. 
“ Look at that clump of birches ! What a picture 
their silvery trunks and delicate foliage make ! How 
those sails gleam ! ” 

“And there are some of your gulls winging their 
way southward.” 

“ Pretty creatures ! I dreamed of one.” 

“ Shall I snare you a gull?” 

“ Not for the world ! I could not make it happy. 
In my dream it fluttered and panted and suffered.” 

“ But if you wanted it” — 


BROOK IN THE MEADOW. 


39 


“ And if it did not want me ! ” 

“ You are noble and you have a tender heart ; I like 
you ! ” said Jack, regarding Hester as directly and simply 
as if she had been a silvery birch or an unknown flower. 

“ And I like you. You are brave and true. Oh, 
how I wish” — “ Basil had been such a boy ! ” were 

the words she arrested with a sigh. 

“You’re unhappy — worried,” said Jack sympa- 
thetically, feeling as he did one day on picking up a 
bird with a broken wing. “ Can’t I help you?” 

“ No, Jack. I wish you could.” 

“ Helen could.” 

“ There are some troubles discussion does not heal 
— quite the reverse. Shall we not leave Kebo? I am 
anxious to receive a letter I know is awaiting me at 
the hotel.” 

“ What a shame you can’t enjoy Mount Desert in 
peace ! ” 

“Is n’t it always so in life? It is the amber marred 
by the fly.” 

“ You are very young to ” — 

“Yes, I’m young; but I’ve borne a heavy heart 
for a long, long time.” 

“Haven’t you enjoyed your walk?” asked Jack 
anxiously. 

“ Exceedingly. I am so grateful to you ! ” 

“ No need.” 

“ The morning Miss Patty and I drove over to 
Bayview ” — 

“You did not recognize me? I was in one of my 
black, inclement moods.” 


40 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ You are too brave a boy to succumb to a mood !” 

‘‘ Is it a question of bravery?’’ 

“Yes; and of principle.” 

“ So Helen would say.” 

“We have reached the hotel. Thank you very, 
very much ! ” 

“I’m coming for you again. It shall be a sail 
next time.” 

“ I ’ll remember. Good-by, Jack.” 

“ Good-by, Miss Wilmerding. Here are your 
roses.” 

“Thank you.” 

Hester hurried to her room, happy in spite of much 
to depress her. Basil’s note lay on a table near Jack’s 
golden-rod and purple asters. She placed her wild 
roses in water and tore open her brother’s envelope : 

Ullesci.iffe Cottage. 

All goes well. I am becoming necessary to grandfather. He 
informed Dr. Duncan that he did not care for the return of the 
head nurse; I might secure an assistant immediately, if needed. 1 
have read much to him. He is pleased to say my voice and pro- 
nunciation are extremely agreeable. 

“ Am I your first patient? ” he abruptly asked yesterday. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“From what medical college or hospital did you receive a 
diploma?” 

“ From none.” 

“Why did you assume the position of a nurse?” 

“ To earn money.” 

“ Is the remuneration I give satisfactory?” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ It shall be doubled; I do not wish to lose your services.” 

Then he relapsed into silence and meditation. Suppose he were 
to fancy me? Sick men indulge in unaccountable whims. Ignoring 
his past will, he would then leave me the bulk of his estate. How 


BROOK IN THE MEADOW. 


41 


ray head whirls at that idea ! Oh, I need help so ranch : I ara in 
such straits! My own fault? Verily. And I have burdened you 
too, ray poor, sweet sister ! If grandfather knows remorse, I can 
sympathize. The moment has not arrived to introduce the names 
of his nearest kindred. I wait impatiently, yet patiently bide ray 
time. “ All things good drift to those who wait.” b. f. w. 

Hester read and re-read this note. Basil had not 
wavered in the least. She trembled as she realized 
that by fair means or foul he would try to possess 
himself in some way of his grandfather’s property. 
Then she prayed for this beloved brother, so sorely 
tempted ; for her grandfather, helpless, perhaps hope- 
less, in the dread hour swiftly approaching ; and for 
herself, tliat she might be firm in what was right and 
remember there could be but one right. She knew 
of old Basil’s sophistries. She dreaded arguments 
when she could not convince him and yet was un- 
shaken in her own conviction of the unalterable prin- 
ciple underlying her remonstrance. Perhaps among 
all the young men at Bar Harbor not one was tempted 
as was her brother! Oh, why was it? She believed 
no temptation was beyond one’s power to resist, if 
only there were the pure, strong will to renounce a 
base allurement. But the unflinching will belonged 
not to Basil, save when self lured him to his own 
undoing. 

Her gaze rested on the golden-rod and asters. How 
they recalled that last sad autumn, when she trans- 
formed her mother’s room into a lovely woodland 
bower of gold and purple and fragrant boughs of 
pine and hemlock and richly burning crimson maples. 


42 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


that the weary eyes might smile and the weary 
heart gather some outdoor cheer from fields and hills 
she was to see no more ! Oh, that tender, pre- 
cious mother ! Hester bowed her head and sank 
beneath the heavy waves of a ceaseless, overwhelm- 
ing sorrow. 


CHAPTER VI. 


ALONG THE SHORE. 

H alf an hour later Miss Patty was tapping at 
her door. 

“ O Hester ! ” cried she, who do you think is in 
Bar Harbor ? ” 

The old lady’s eyes were beaming and her cheeks 
glowing. She held two cards in her hand and a note. 
On the cards Hester read : Henri de Rosambert, 
Mademoiselle de Rosambert. The little French- 
English note was from Gudule de Rosambert, inform- 
ing Miss Conway that she had accompanied her brother 
to Amerique ; he needed change, for his health had 
suffered from overwork. They learned in New York 
that their dear old friend was at Bar Harbor, and so 
they had thought it “ very pleasant to at once seek the 
only face they knew in wide, wide Amerique.” 

‘ ‘ They are in our hotel and I am on my way to see 
them. Come with me to welcome these dear French 
people to Mount Desert.” 

“ You met them in Paris?” 

“ Yes ; I was deeply interested in Mr. McAll’s 
mission work and found Monsieur de Rosambert 
laboring earnestly with him for the people of Paris. 
He has given his wealth, time, and health most gener- 
ously. Gudule has seconded him in every effort. She 
is also one after my own heart.” 


43 


44 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


Though shy and dreading to meet strangers, Hester 
could not refuse Miss Patty’s invitation. What would 
not a cordial greeting convey to her were she alone in 
France with Basil ? 

The refined and noble presence of the gentleman 
and lady, their musical voices and charming manners, 
won Hester immediately. 

Monsieur de Rosambert appeared far from well, and 
his sister, evidently anxious, was thankful to meet a 
friend in the strange new land. Inquiries were made 
for Madame de Rosambert. She had sent many kind 
messages to Miss Conway and a little note, which 
Gudule presented, gracefully entreating the continuation 
of the old lady’s friendship for her son and daughter. 

“I am only too happy,” responded Miss Patty. 
“ I am certain this wondrous air of Mount Desert will 
not fail to perform its marvels for restoring strength 
to Monsieur de Rosambert.” 

“ That is my most earnest wish.” 

In answer to Miss Conway’s questions, the young 
man proceeded to give many most interesting details of 
the various missions in Paris, his fine, expressive face 
and animated gestures emphasizing each striking fact. 

Hester felt that his was no ordinary mind. She noted 
the keenness of his eye — that evidence of a ceaseless 
habit of observation ; the varied expressions of his 
face — an indication of a most sensitive, responsive 
nature ; his sympathy with every class and condition 
of men, and his judgment in meeting individual diver- 
sities. Every glance and word appealed to Hester 
delightfully yet painfully ; she was so conscious of 


ALONG THE SHOBE. 


45 


Basil’s lack of these qualities. But a few years the 
senior of her brother, what had this man not accom- 
plished with opportunities Basil would have ignored, 
even had he perceived them ! And Gudule, so little 
older than herself, how happy must she not have been 
in working so faithfully by the side of such a brother ! 

Hester listened, self-condemned. Aside from her 
loving, persistent efforts to win Basil from his dissi- 
pated life and companions, she could recall no service 
performed for others. With deep interest, therefore, 
she hearkened to every conversation of the De 
Rosamberts in drives and walks, in which Miss 
Patty always thoughtfully included her. 

One radiant morning. Miss Patty, who could never 
be induced to enter a boat, watched her friends and 
Hester as they glided down Frenchman’s Bay to en- 
joy the marvelous beauty and grandeur of the shore. 
They were the guests of Jack Bolton, whose commo- 
dious yacht, the Sea Gull, in charge of Dick Tenby, 
had been placed at the De Rosamberts’ disposal so 
long as they remained at Mount Desert. 

“That chain of five islands in the bay is The 
Porcupines,” explained Jack to his eager listeners. 
“ They look bare and wild, don’t they? But they are 
very interesting when approached.” 

“That I can believe,” said Henri de Rosambert. 
“Those bold cliffs soar many hundred feet.” 

“ Do you see how they are scarred by the gales and 
pierced by many caves hollowed by the waves?” 

“ Distinctly.” 

“ Delicate grasses and wild flowers of lovely form 


46 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


and tint live in the crevices of those old gray and red 
cliff sides.” 

“You have gathered them? ” asked Gudule. 

“ I never cared to.” 

“No?” 

“They are too happy in their homes, swaying in 
the blast, drenched by the spray, those little lovers of 
the wind and sea.” 

“There are sheep above the line of rocky beach,” 
said Hester. 

“ They belong to some fishermen who live on the 
landward side of the islands where they are sheltered 
from the storms.” 

The four miles to the cliff of Schooner Head was a 
dream of delight to the little party. Never were sea 
and sky in more festal mood to grace the beauty of 
the island’s enchanting shore. 

“ As it is low tide and such a sun shining, we must 
cross the cove and land. I wish you to see our 
Anemone Cave.” 

In the large cavern, to their great delight, they 
found a lovely garden of beaming flowers of the sea : 
anemones, orchids, zoophytes, starfish, and fairylike 
weeds and mosses. All the tints of rarest, fairest 
gems lived in these anemones. Charming were the 
delicate, snowy daisy buds and amber and crimson 
varieties. The vault of the huge cave was a glowing 
reflector of the blue sunlit waves that then lay tran- 
quilly sleeping outside that gorgeous treasure-house. 

Hester was mute with awe and rapturous amaze- 
ment ; nor were her companions much less moved. 




ANEMONE CAVE 




ALONG THE 8H0BE. 


47 


“It is only one mile and a half to Great Head/’ 
said Jack. 

“And such a glorious day! Oh, may we not see 
it?” eagerly asked Hester. 

Gudule’s eyes offered the same petition. 

“ You have but to give the command,” responded 
Jack. 

“Then pray consider it given,” said Henri de 
Rosambert, fascinated by the marvels he had seen and 
stirred by the remembrance of that devoted missionary 
colony from France, which, more than two hundred 
years before, had gazed on that same sea and sky and 
shore. 

The yacht moved on, bearing him to a scene more 
wildly, appallingly grand than he had conceived. A 
lofty cliff, massive, bald, and savage in grandeur, over- 
hangs the Atlantic, challenging the most prolonged 
and furious onslaught of wind and wave. The cease- 
less thud and roar of monstrous billows rolling in and 
crashing against the giant cliff were deafening. 

“ It is almost impossible to land even in the calmest 
weather,” said Jack. “ There is a ravine at the back 
of Great Head. Creeping down, and then scrambling 
and sliding along the less precipitous side of the cliff, 
you can find your way underneath that vast bulk ; but 
it is a dangerous experiment. With scarcely a foot- 
hold, you may crouch a moment under the over- 
hanging walls : but there is no recompense, save to 
know you have dared and done it ! ” 

An eagle, mighty in its strength of widespread 
wings and dauntless vision, soared over Great Head. 


48 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT, 


Tireless it moved with stately ease across the cloud- 
less, dazzling blue, seeking its home on far-away Green 
Mountain. 

“‘The eagle suffers little birds to sing, and cares 
not what they mean thereby,’ ” quoted Hester. 

Henri de Rosambert’s quick ear caught the sentence. 

“ Ah, that ’s fine ! How one needs just that quality 
of mind, mademoiselle, if one is attempting any work 
for one’s self or another ! ” 

“Translate it into French, Henri,” besought Gu- 
dule, who was not as conversant with English as her 
brother. 

“Then you think ‘the singing of the little birds’ 
refers to a carping spirit,” she asked, “ an unkind, 
narrow criticism which one must forget in conducting 
a noble enterprise ? ” 

“ Truly. Have I not seen you deliberately, un- 
flinchingly meet just that discipline, my dear Gudule?” 

“Only braced by your example!” returned the 
young girl, giving her brother a glance so fond and 
content that tears rushed to Hester’s eyes in a yearn- 
ing longing that Basil could justly win from her such 
an emotion. 

“We must leave Newport Beach, Thunder Cave, 
Otter Cliffs, and Southwest Harbor for another day,” 
said Jack, “ as I have been trusted to bring you back 
to dine at Bayview.” 

The return sail was exquisitely lovely. The thirteen 
lofty mountain peaks swept in graceful outlines across 
the azure sky ; wild, dim ravines and sunny, fertile 
valleys cleaving long deep shadows in their rounded 


ALONG THE SHOME. 


49 


slopes. Rocky headlands soared from the blue water, 
their dusky crowns of evergreens breaking the silvery, 
hazy line where ocean seemed softly to touch and rest 
against the sky. In the distance a snowy wave would 
leap into the air, to fall swiftly and with irregular 
swaying motion glide in toward a stretch of sandy 
beach or rocky shore where the long, sharp, dangerous 
reefs and ledges crouched beneath the swelling sea. 

Gliding in among other yachts, canoes, sloops, 
schooners, steam launches, and tugs, the graceful 
Sea Gull made the wharf. 

Hester paused on the hotel veranda — at that hour 
almost deserted — seeing Madame de Chavigni seated 
there, an unopened book lying on her knee. The 
lovely face unconsciously expressed the loneliness and 
sorrow that had so touched the girl, and she could 
not pass the Creole lady by. 

“ You have been driving. Miss Wilmerding? ” Her 
voice was sweet and mellow. 

“ No, madame ; I have been enjoying my first sail, 
and seeing such marvels along the shore — Schooner 
Head, Anemone Cave, and Great Head. What does 
not coming to Mount Desert include? Cliffs, moun- 
tains, coves, islands, bays, streams, meadows, lakes, 
and fairy caves ! Do you not sail often ? ” 

“I?” Madame de Chavigni, usually so calm, was 
painfully affected. “ No. I must be by the sea in 
summer, but never on it.” 

So low was the conclusion of the sentence that 
Hester barely caught it. 

The stately mulatto maid, without whom the Creole 


50 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


lady never walked or drove, appeared on the veranda 
bearing a light wrap. 

“ I do not need a wrap, thank you, Judith.’’ 

The maid retreated. The smile of Madame de 
Chavigni followed her. 

“You do not know. Miss Wilmerding, how we of 
the South care for our earliest attendants, or how 
loyally we are loved and served by them. Even her 
freedom has not lured Judith from me. She was given 
to me when I was only two years old. Ah, here-is 
Miss Conway coming to carry you away ! ” 

Hester would fain have declined the Bayview hos- 
pitalities to remain with Madame de Chavigni ; but, 
affectionately peremptory. Miss Patty hastened her 
from the veranda to prepare for the entertainment in 
honor of the De Rosamberts and other attractive 
strangers then in Bar Harbor. 

‘ ‘ Madame de Chavigni does not accompany us ? ” 

“No; she refused.” 

“ And very wisely ! ” ejaculated Hester. 

During the hours passed at beautiful Bayview she 
was in a regretful mood. How much she would have 
preferred strolling along the shore or on the cliffs with 
the Creole lady and her picturesque attendant I Miss 
Patty shook her head over her evident preoccupation ; 
and Henri de Rosambert smiled, divining the cause 
from an impulsive remark of Hester’s uttered in their 
drive over to the dinner. 


CHAPTER VII. 


GREEN MOUNTAIN 


NTIL the hour struck when it was useless to 



hope for a note from Basil the next morning, 
Hester was untranquil. Ullescliffe Cottage haunted 
her sleeping or waking. Oh, if she could only trust 
Basil ! Resolutely turning her thoughts from the dis- 
quieting theme, she gave them to the page before 
her : — 

A lofty mountain lifts itself with perpendicular face against a 
quiet valley. When summer thunders with great storms, the 
cliff echoes the thunder and rolls it forth a second time with in- 
creased majesty ; and we think that to be sublime storms should 
awaken mountain echoes. But a bird singing before it hears its 
own little song sung back again; and a child, lost and crying in 
the valley, hears its piteous calls and sobs reechoed. In sooth, 
the mountain repeats whatever is sounded, from the sublirnest 
notes of the tempest to the sweetest bird carol or child’s weeping; 
and it is just as easy to do the little as the great, and far more 
beautiful. God is our echoing rock, and from his heart is in- 
flected every experience of joy or grief that any soul utters or 
knows. 

Hester paused to accept the strength and comfort 
of the illustration ; she had felt so alone in her 
anxiety and sorrow. 

When a great organ sounds, it does not sound according to the 
size of your ear, but according to the magnitude of its own pipes. 
Its harmony does not depend on your ability to appreciate, but on 
the vastuess and complexity of its own stops. So God, with in- 
finite resources and power, does not according to our thought, but 
exceediug abundantly more than we can ask or think. 


61 


52 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ Oh, that He would do thus for me ! ” was the cry 
of Hester’s heart. 

If God were to recount what he has done for us and will yet do, 
it would seem as though our life were a golden chain, in which one 
gold link clasped another — every hour being a link and every 
day lengthening the chain. Yet we frequently feel as if our life 
were a barren, desolate life, because we have not noticed what the 
benefits of God to us really were ; because we have taken no such 
heed as to be impressed that the Lord was guiding and defending 
us and giving us the victory. One mercy rolls over another as the 
vvftves of the sea. We do not realize that the events redeeming 
the day, that fill this hour with peace, are special and divine 
mercies. 

Again Hester paused. If her life held one intense 
anxiety, how many blessings were also hers ! She 
had acknowledged them, but always while standing 
under the shadow of the one dark cloud. She could 
not forget that gloom. Was it right to forget it? or, 
better, what was the power to dispel it ? She turned 
the page of her book : — 

When a cloud drops low and it is rainy and chilly and misty, 
there is only discomfort. What is the rainbow? That same cloud 
with the sun shining on it, clothing it with glory and beauty. 
Trials may become rainbows to men. 

Hester was answered. Closing her book she sat 
quietly thinking. The hour struck when Basil’s note 
would reach her if it were to come that day. Never 
had that hour found Hester so little disquieted. 
Would that strong, calm angel might remain with her 
forever ! 

A tap at her door — yes ; there was the note : — ‘ 


OBEEN MOUNTAIN. 


58 


Ullescliffe Cottage. 

I am more than satisfied, Hester, with the progress I am mak- 
ing in winning grandfather’s favor. Even Dr. Duncan is begin- 
ning to congratulate me. Grandfather is, also, somewhat more 
comfortable, though there is no evidence that he will ever leave his 
present apartment. He spoke last evening of desiring to pass 
another year in Europe and of my accompanying him. Glancing 
at the physician, whose face was inscrutable, he sighed, seemingly 
disappointed not to find therein a cordial endorsement of his air 
castle. He deeply enjoyed the delicious sunshine of yesterday. 
From his broad windows he sees the green mainland, the islands, 
and many sails flitting across the blue bay. Children were calling 
in the large, outdoor freedom, and voices were gayly singing as 
the merry folk strolled by. 

“ What it is to be well and young— well and young I” I heard 
grandfather murmur. 

“ Have you no youthful relatives, Mr. Harcourt, who could 
cheer you by their aflection and bright spirits?” 

“ I have none.” His voice was low but decided — as if to end 
the theme. 

“That is very sad for you,” I persisted. “The love of the 
young” — 

“ Is pure selfishness,” he interrupted. 

“ Pardon my differing with you,” I responded. 

“ We will not discuss it, Fortescue.” 

But I am not discouraged. I intend to resume the subject later. 
Suddenly he turned and gazed at me steadily. 

“ Are you only a nurse?” asked he. 

“ I am only a nurse,” I as steadily answered. 

“ Would it be infringing on our relations to inquire for what 
special object you desire a remunerative service?” 

“ Self-support.” 

He seemed disappointed. Evidently I had been credited with 
some benevolent or quixotic scheme. Fancy that, Hester I 

“ You have been expensively educated. By your parents?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ They are dead?” 

“ They are. I must frankly inform you that when I entered on 
my property I was too extravagant.” This I said hoping to enlist 
his sympathy. Far from it 1 


54 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Then you are not to be entrusted with a second estate,” he 
responded quickly. 

“ I have learned from experience,” I as promptly replied, seeing 
the bequest I hoped he would leave me melting into nothingness. 

Grandfather vouchsafed no answer. Imagine my amazement in 
the evening to have this question suddenly propounded : — 

“ Did you ever meet the son and daughter of Frederick Wil- 
merding ? ” 

“ Often.” 

He bent forward and scanned me keenly. Silent for some 
seconds, when he spoke his voice was unnatural : — 

“ Do you know the maiden name of their mother?” 

“ She was a Miss Harcourt.” 

“My daughter! You knew that, Fortescue, when you men- 
tioned my ‘ youthful relatives ’ ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Why did you refer to them?” 

“ I desired to win your interest.” 

“ I possess no grandchildren 1 ” he exclaimed in a tone so violent 
and with an expression so inimical that I was silent. 

“ When my daughter married, the tie of father and daughter 
lived no longer.” 

“ Neither God, nature, nor law will uphold you, sir! ” 

“Law will uphold me, as you will learn when my will is read,” 
he responded with a bitter, pitiless laugh. 

“You pursue the dead into their graves and beyond it!” I 
cried. 

“How dare you speak”— His voice failed and he became 
unconscious. 

I hastened to apply the remedies that always relieved his sudden 
attacks of heart malady, and in an hour he seemed no weaker than 
in the morning. 

I am now convinced that he will not relent towards us volun- 
tarily; therefore at his death we may anticipate only poverty. 
Why do I remain at Ullesclifle? Because there must be found a 
motive powerful enough to melt his present resolution ; or, he must 
become so dependent on me as “ Fortescue” that he will volunta- 
rily provide for my future. I can accomplish the latter and I see 
many tokens that encourage me ; therefore I said I was “ more 
than satisfied” with the progress I am making. b. f. w. 


GBEEN MOUNTAIN. 


55 


There was much in this letter to distress Hester. 
How could a rainbow illumine such a cloud ? Oh, if her 
mother — her sweet mother — were only living, how 
easily, how gladly she would work for her ! For work 
she would. She could not be dependent on Basil. 

Seizing a pen, she implored him to relinquish his 
mad, wild scheme ; it could lead to, and end, only in 
evil. They did not need, they could be independent 
of, a relative who ignored them. It was right, honest, 
and brave to be ! She besought him to come to her : 
“ Only promise to utterly abandon your former life 
and all will yet be well. We are young and strong. 
We can maintain ourselves; some plan will suggest 
itself. All honest work is honorable. ’’ 

If Basil refused to listen, what could she do? Hes- 
ter pondered. Might she ask the De Rosamberts to 
recommend her as a teacher of English? She had 
heard them say it was most desirable for French 
children to understand her language and literature. 
Somewhat cheered by her little plan for self-support, 
she addressed Basil’s note and leaving her apartment 
proceeded to dispatch it by the waiting messenger. 

“O Miss Wilmerding, I’m glad to find you!” 
cried Jack Bolton, rushing toward her with an invi- 
tation from his mother to join a hastily gathered party 
to ascend Green Mountain. The veranda was full 
of tourists preparing for excursions, or just returned 
from an early drive, row, or walk. 

Half an hour later two mountain wagons left Bar 
Harbor carrying Mrs. Bolton and her party — Miss 


56 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


Conway, Hester, the De Rosamberts, her own family, 
and some guests then at Bayview. As Madame de 
Chavigni had already departed for a drive, accom- 
panied by Judith, they hoped to meet and induce her 
to join their expedition. 

Turning from the glittering waves of Frenchman’s 
Bay and the Sullivan Hills lying in purple shadow, 
they presently branched off to the left from the Eagle 
Lake road to enter a fragrant forest of pine, spruce, 
and birch. The sky was cloudless and the woods in- 
terlaced with sunlight. Squirrels leaped from bough 
to bough; sweetest bird notes floated round them. 
In such an air, with rippling brooks and silvery 
cascades still farther heightening enjoyment. Jack 
Bolton and Nelly Armitage could no longer endure 
imprisonment, even in a mountain wagon. 

“We will meet you at Eagle Lake, but we must 
walk the remainder of the way ! ” they cried. 

On went the cousins, doubly delighted with the 
excursion and the beautiful views, now they were on 
their own lithe feet. 

“If only I had some twine or cord!” exclaimed 
Jack. “ I have a plan ” — 

The remainder of the sentence was lost in aston- 
ishment and the plan never revealed, for Nelly drew 
from her pocket some neatly wound string that had 
long been waiting the right moment for presentation. 

“ Whose is that? ” questioned Jack. 

“ Yours.” 

“ Mine? ” 

“Yes.” 


GREEN MOUNTu^N, 


57 


“ Nelly, I know girls are whimmy ; but I never 
imagined you would buy new cord, wind it on a stick, 
and try to pass it off for my snarled, soiled old 
bunch ! ” 

“ But, Jack, it is yours ! I undid the knots and then 
I washed it.” 

“Washed it? Girl all over!” Jack roared with 
laughter and Nelly laughed with him. 

“ Nelly,” said he, pausing in the path and steadily 
regarding her with a suddenly sober countenance, 
“ Nelly, I am indebted to you for the cord and the 
altogether absurd trouble you took to keep your prom- 
ise. If you had half a dozen brothers, you would find 
such attentions did not pay ! I ’ll reward you by a 
surprise — a pleasant one, equal to mine, some day. 
But oh, how could you?” seriousness melting into 
uncontrolled merriment as he surveyed the white, 
untangled cord. 

“It’s now too fine for me to use; I’ll keep it as 
a memento. When I ’m old and gray you ’ll find it 
among my trophies. Do look at that squirrel ! ” 

Chatting and walking eagerly on, the time seemed 
brief till they caught a glimpse of gleaming Eagle 
Lake, the home of salmon and trout and the source 
of the delicious water supply of Bar Harbor. 

“ There is Madame de Chavigni I ” exclaimed Nelly. 

The Creole lady, attended by Judith, had just left 
her buckboard, and cordially greeted the cousins, who 
hastened toward her. 

Encircled by forests of pine and cedar, overlooked 
by the rocky dome of lofty Sargent, reflecting Green 


58 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Mountain and other slopes that sweep down lovingly 
to form the frame for its silvery mirror, Eagle Lake 
lay dreaming in golden sunshine and crystal air. 
Little blue waves softly broke on its sandy beach 
edged with sedge grass and overhung by evergreens ; 
rock fern covered with green masses of cumbersome old 
gray stone ; the warm air was laden with the spicy 
breath of aromatic shrubs and trees clustering in the 
forest. On the edge of the wood, grotesquely twisted 
cedars hospitably offered low seats that Madame de 
Chavigni, Nelly, and Jack gladly accepted while 
awaiting the arrival of their party. 

A train was coming down steep Green Mountain 
and at her pier was the little steamboat Wauwi- 
nett, pausing for tourists who desired to ascend that 
precipitous height. The lake was dotted with the craft 
of salmon and trout fishers and sailboats, containing 
one or more happy idlers enjoying the delicious day. 

“ Before we leave Mount Desert we must all cross 
‘ the carry’ between Eagle Lake and Jordan’s Pond,” 
said Jack. “ O Nelly, if you wish to see moss, go 
there ! There ’s moss on the rocks lying along the 
side of the very narrow trail and moss underfoot ; 
fern knee-high ; fir boughs lacing overhead ; birds 
singing ; brooks that you can hear but cannot see and 
which you wish to find right away ; partridge berries, 
arbutus, crow’s-foot, and shepherd’s pipe all about 
you. Oh, there ’s our party ! ” and up jumped Jack, 
waving his cap. 

Embarked on the lake, a twenty minutes’ sail con- 
veyed them to the little railroad station, and another 


GBEEN MOUNTAIN. 


59 


twenty-five minutes carried them up the perilous 
slope to the Summit House on the top of Green 
Mountain. 

Transparent air and radiant sunlight lent themselves 
to enhance the far-reaching, exquisite views on main- 
land and Mount Desert, of mountains, valleys, lakes, 
cliffs, bays, curving shores, and the many islands gem- 
ming gleaming bay and sea. In the distance were 
the grand outlines of lofty, dreamy ranges ; and one 
hundred and twenty miles away, soaring alone and 
beyond them all, was mighty Katahdin, leaning against 
the horizon’s utmost azure rim. 

Exclamations were intrusive and inadequate for 
those great, tender, glowing spaces of earth and sea 
and sky. To feel the lovely miracle was enough and 
almost more than two or three sensitive spirits there 
could bear. 

To Hester the scene was thrilling in its strength 
of perfect majesty and beauty, contrasted with her 
weakness to cope with the daily, perplexing problem 
of life, demanding a wise solution. To Madame de 
Chavigni the painful, haunting memories, in which 
she so vividly lived that the empty present was a 
blank, were all quickened by that view from the 
mountain’s summit ; and to Gudule de Rosambert, the 
passionately pathetic yearning for France and home, 
never mentioned to her brother, was more deeply 
stirred by the infinite loveliness of the vision. As she 
stood apart, each feature of the beautiful face painfully 
responsive, Henri de Rosambert realized how much 


60 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


she had sacrificed in accompanying him in his quest 
for strength and repose. From that moment the tie 
between them deepened, and his appreciation of her 
self-devotion was so tender as to soothe the longing 
she had been too noble to express. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


FTER resting for an hour, and taking a lunch at 



the Summit House, Mrs. Bolton’s party decided 
to stay on the mountain as late as possible. 

“We should wait for the marvels of the sunset, 
or at least watch it from the ledge overlooking Eagle 
Lake,” said Miss Patty, recalling past summers on 
Mount Desert. “ In the meantime, how I wish Mon- 
sieur de Rosambert would repeat to us that portion of 
the exquisite ‘ Beleaguered City ’ which I heard him 
recite to the working men and women of Belleville, 
one of the Parisian suburbs ! ” 

“ Most certainly, if you desire it. What first ar- 
rested my attention in the narrative to which Miss 
Conway refers was the name of the mayor of the 
place — a Frenchman living in a French town, wherein 
occurred the remarkable events I shall presently recite 
to you. I repeated it on that special evening owing to 
a remark I heard on my way to Belleville. ‘ There 
is no God, I tell you, Pierre ! ’ an angry voice 
exclaimed behind me. ‘ Go you shall not to those 
accursed meetings established by the Englishman!’ 
I turned and saw the flushed face of Pierre Latour, 
a constant attendant at the gatherings in Belleville 
and elsewhere. Greeting him, I asked the name of 
his companion. ‘ Jean Valais, monsieur.’ ‘ Friends,’ 


61 


62 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


I said, ‘ come this evening to the Belleville rooms. I 
wish to narrate there what occurred in Semur after a 
remark similar to that of Jean Valais.’ The latter 
assented courteously, much to Pierre Latour’s amaze- 
ment. ‘ To please Monsieur de Rosarabert I will — 
for once — attend a gathering.’ Expressing my appre- 
ciation of his courtesy, I led the way. The prelimi- 
nary services concluded, I asked permission to narrate 
some circumstances that would awaken a deeper interest 
in the labors of Mr. McAll in Paris, which I did as 
follows : — 

On such a summer’s night as this, Jacques Richard 
was strolling down one of the streets of Semur, tossing 
in his hand a silver coin and exclaiming : “There is no 
God but money ! With money one can do anything. 
Money is the good god ! ” The priest of Semur was 
carrying the rites of his church to a dying person. 
He came straight in Jacques’ path, but Jacques did not 
move. The priest passed on, while devout women 
exclaimed at Jacques’ irreverence. One cried out, 
“It is enough to cause the dead to rise from their 
graves to convince you ! ” But on down the street 
went Jacques carelessly, still tossing the silver coin, 
while proclaiming it the only god. 

Jacques Richard was not the only one in Semur 
who scoffed at a belief in God. It seemed to be, 
more or less, the prevailing opinion in this old French 
town that for men to trust in Him was to perpetuate 
the pious folly of their grandmothers. 

The mayor also had outlived his faith in the teaching 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


63 


of the Roman Catholic Church, though careful not to 
malign it openly for the sake of his mother and his 
lovely wife, Agn^s ; and for another reason — unbelief 
was not good for the community he governed. 

We all know how radiant is the summer of France. 
Imagine then the consternation of the people of Semur 
when darkness suddenly settled down over their city ! 
It was six o’clock in the morning by all their clocks, 
yet the sun had not risen. When at last it faintly 
glimmered above the horizon, the streets seemed gray 
and unearthly. The aspect of the sky was leaden, as 
though a snowstorm were on the way. Fuller daylight 
came only at ten ; and even then it was unnatural, 
ghostly. In the early afternoon the lamps were 
lighted ; and as the night drew on no moon or stars 
relieved the awful gloom. 

Who could help feeling that some visitation was at 
hand when the glorious summer in its prime was sud- 
denly stricken as with the chill of death? Mayor 
Dupin and his assistant Barbon patrolled the city, 
through the dark streets in which lamps were of no 
avail, often nearly losing their way. A strange cold 
filled the air, the more appalling from the warmth 
that had reigned in Semur only the day before. 

In their wanderings they met Paul Lecamus, called 
by many an impractical dreamer, but respected by all 
in the city for his upright conduct. 

“Good-evening, Lecamus,” said Mayor Dupin. 
“ You are groping your way about in the dark like 
myself. Do you think a storm is approaching?” 

Paul Lecamus shook his head.' “ If you will come 


64 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


with me, I will show you something more wonderful 
than the darkness.” 

They were now near the gate of Saint Lambert. 
All was fast closed for the night, the people of Semur 
being within their houses and the usual watch set at 
the city gates. These officers received their mayor 
with evident relief, and he courteously regretted the 
discomfort the unusual cold was causing them. In- 
deed, so bleak was the air that Dupin shivered as 
it swept over him from the direction of the barred 
gates. 

At this a look of intelligence was exchanged by 
the officers of the watch and they glanced at Dupin 
expectantly. 

Paul Lecamus stepped forward, requesting that the 
small postern for foot passengers might be opened to 
give the mayor an opportunity to inspect the country 
outside. 

At once Rion, one of the officers, caught the may- 
or’s arm, entreating him to spare himself the experi- 
ence of something strange, unusual, outside those 
closed gates. 

This entreaty roused Dupin’s sense of responsi- 
bility. He asked for a lantern and followed Paul 
Lecamus, who seemed struggling against an unseen 
crowd beyond the gate. The same sensation at once 
overpowered the mayor as he passed out. Gasping 
as if suffocated, he clutched the arm of Lecamus and 
paused. A multitude whom they could neither see nor 
touch seemed pressing against them in the intense 
darkness. Dupin staggered back, dragging Lecamus 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


05 


with him, and both fell against the door of the watch- 
man’s oHice, which opened for their relief. 

To the frightened queries of the watch Dupin could 
only reply that he had seen — nothing ! The mystery 
was unexplainable. Even the mayor could not solve 
it. He hardly knew how he reached his home ; prob- 
ably Lecamus assisted him. To the questions of his 
wife and mother he could not respond. All was 
changed. Was it the hand of God? 

Hour by hour the cathedral clock solemnly rang forth 
its tidings. As four, five, six, seven pealed over the 
city, darkness still reigned. Then the mayor arose 
and again went out into the silent streets, which before 
at that hour had always been so full of life and move- 
ment. 

Even the great doors of the beautiful cathedral 
were still closed — those doors that the good sexton 
Laserques regularly opened with the dawn, to welcome 
to God’s house those unhappy ones who might have 
found no night’s shelter in the homes of men. Unusual 
as it was for Mayor Dupin to enter the cathedral — 
save once on Sunday, for the sake of example — some- 
thing drew him toward this house of God. To find it 
closed must have been as though his mother had turned 
from him in his distress. Little as we think of God in 
our prosperity, we all know that if anxiety or trouble 
approaches, we feel our need of him. 

Turning homeward, Dupin saw that the darkness 
was slightly lessening. A faint grayness was stealing 
over the street in which the people of Semur were 
gathering. All greeted the mayor, half ashamed, half 


66 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


frightened at their own indolence, ascribing it to “the 
extraordinary weather — the corning of winter in the 
midst of summer.” The mother and wife of Dupin 
were watching for him, weeping. They believed God 
was about to visit with his wrath the city that had 
grown so deaf and blind to his longsuffering goodness 
and grace. 

Again the darkiiess deepened gradually, and by five 
o’clock it was as dense as on the day before. From 
his window the mayor could faintly descry a crowd 
gathering before the cathedral, ever increasing till the 
square was full. Joining this multitude, he inquired 
the subject of interest. 

“ Look, look. Mayor Dupin, on the great doors of 
our cathedral ! ” 

“ I see nothing.” But even as he spoke he started ; 
for there, traced in large letters of unearthly bright- 
ness, was the solitary word 

SUMMONS. 

There were other words which Dupin gradually 
deciphered, as they blazed out in the gloom. It was 
a summons to the people of Semur, name by name. 
Mayor Dupin heading the long list, to relinquish tlieir 
places in the city, so unworthily filled, to those who 
knew the true meaning of life. 

“Go/ leave Semur to those who know the true mean- 
ing of life.” 

Mayor Dupin had naught to answer. Dumb for 
some seconds, appalled, he then took courage, remem- 
bering his prominent position in Semur. Was it a 


AWAITING THE SUNSET, 


67 


miracle, that writing on the cathedral doors? Was it 
a trick of some scientific member of the Academy of 
Semur? Or was it the work of the priest, to intimi- 
date the careless of his parish ? 

It was soon evident that the latter was as ignorant 
as any of that awe-struck multitude concerning the un- 
earthly, supernatural summons. Was it, then, from 
above — a command, a warning? The priest remem- 
bered the shadowy hand which wrote unknown words 
on Belshazzar’s palace wall. 

Mayor Dupin turned home. The command had 
been given ; the letters of light had vanished, and 
darkness that might be felt reigned in Semur. Who 
slept that night? 

At the hour that should have brought the summer's 
dawn, only a gray twilight was apparent. The people 
of Semur were leaving their homes, some carrying 
special treasures, others nothing, but all moving in the 
direction of the gates and postern of Saint Lambert. 
The bells of the cathedral were softly, sadly tolling, 
rung by invisible hands, as Mayor Dupin and, still 
more wonderful, the priest, led forth the sol- 
emn procession filing out of Semur. That Jacques 
Richard, the open unbeliever, should be banished to 
yield his place to those who knew the true meaning of 
life — to glorify God — was not surprising. Evidently 
he was forced along against his will — not acquiescing 
quietly like the priest. Many wondered whether he 
remembered his cry, “ There is no god but money ! ” 

The gates were reached ; the multitude strove to 
pause, to ascertain why, in the wintry twilight of 


68 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


that July day, they were forcibly expelled. Viewless 
hands drove them forth and on — ever on ! All had 
passed out. Then, grown desperate, they tried to re- 
turn ; but slowly, slowly, slowly the gates were closed 
before their eyes ! Mayor Dupin rushed forward and 
dashed himself against the postern door, crying, — 

“ Open, open, in the name of God ! ” 

Like a faint echo from a mighty trumpet came the 
answer : — 

“ Closed, closed, in the name of God ! ” 

Wonderful to relate, as the exiles turned from the 
gates and wall of Semur, which separated them like 
a stone and iron girdle from their beloved homes, the 
darkness suddenly vanished and the blessed sunlight 
once more flooded the country. Summer had been 
given back to them ! The river flowed, the sweet, 
warm air blew on them, and Nature welcomed the 
outcasts royally. In the intense relief of enjoying 
summer after that awful darkness, their lost homes 
were for a moment forgotten, but only to be quickly 
remembered, till all wept and clung to one another 
despairingly. 

What could faith in science do for them then ? It 
had failed. Not one scientific man amid that multi- 
tude could suggest a way of opening those miracu- 
lously closed gates, or explain how or why they were 
closed. The Church, in the person of the priest, had 
failed too. Was he not driven forth with his flock? 

“ My children,” began the priest ; — but at that mo- 
ment the cathedral bells, that had not yet ceased their 
mournful tolling, broke into a full and joyous peal — 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


69 


all the bells wildly clangiag as if a thousand hands 
had caught the ropes. 

The exiles were dumb with awe. Then those who 
.had known most of holy teaching and had believed — 
though, alas! not willingly obeyed — rushed back to 
the gates, crying, — 

“Open to us — open to us, our beloved! Do you 
think we have forgotten you? We have never for- 
gotten you ! ” 

A communication from the Unseen suddenly calmed 
this imploring appeal. To the mayor and others it 
seemed only sweet notes of a silver trumpet ; but 
to those who had wept beseechingly for recognition 
words were audible, and they wept no more ! They 
fell on their knees, a wonderful light shining in their 
faces, ready to obey the wishes of those beloved ones 
beyond their sight. 

But to the mayor, to his mother, and even to the 
priest, nothing had been revealed ; they had caught no 
words of that heavenly message. Mayor Dupin turned 
to the priest : — 

“What is it?” he cried. “You are our spiritual 
director ; you know what relates to the Unseen. What 
are the words that have been spoken to a few in this 
great multitude ? ” 

Tears were rolling down the priest’s cheeks as he 
shook his head, saying, — 

“I know not. I am a miserable, unworthy one, 
like the rest. What your wife and those few blessed 
ones heard is between them and God. I have been 
of the world, like the rest. I have profaned His holy 
altar ! ” 


70 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Presently ma^y grew reckless, and entering the 
tavern near the gates of Saint Lambert indulged in 
dissipation shocking to the priest, the mayor, and the 
more thoughtful exiles from Semur. 

Strange was the night. Outside the city it was 
moonlight ; but Semur was a blank, its walls dimly 
discernible ; not even the lofty cathedral towers were 
visible above the line of the ramparts. 

Humbled, terrified, Jacques Richard drew near the 
mayor, asking whether they were indeed those they held 
as “ the dead ” who had returned, by the will of God, 
to Semur, and whether it was the omission of the 
daily service of prayer at the hospital chapel that had 
brought this expulsion upon them. 

“It is you, and such as you, who are the cause 
of our trouble,” replied Mayor Dupin vehemently. 
“You thought and said there was no watch kept up 
there!” pointing skyward. “You thought and said 
God would not take the trouble to punish you ; you 
went about the streets of Semur tossing your silver 
coin and crying, ‘ There is no God I This silver is my 
god!’ Go, Jacques Richard — go, and beseech your 
money to help you ! ” 

Jacques moved away silenced and realizing for the 
first time somewhat of his own profanity, while Mayor 
Dupin gazed on the moonlit river and tlie darkened 
city from which he and his had been driven, till his 
spirit melted and he cried in agony, “ O God, whom I 
know not, am I not to thee as my little Jean is to me 
— a child, and less than a child? Do not forsake me 
in this awful darkness ! Would I, could I, forsake 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 71 

Jean were he ever so disobedient? O God, if thou 
art God, thou must be a better Father than I.” 

The wife of Dupin drew near him. 

“ O my beloved Agn^s, give me your counsel.” 

“If we will submit our hearts, those unseen ones 
will return to their sacred homes and we to ours.’ 
Have those now dwelling within those closed gates 
come for nothing? Was Semur a city of saints? 
God has permitted this great tribulation to bring us 
to self-recollection.” 

“ But what proof have we, my wife?” 

Mayor Dupin turned toward Semur. Oh, what a 
glorious moment was that ! Above the cloud that 
wrapped the city there was a parting, a rent in the 
darkness, and in mid-heaven the cathedral towers 
pointed to the sky ! 

Dupin cried exultantly, “ The towers ! the towers ! ” 

Oh, how the priest and all those banished ones 
thanked God as their weary eyes beheld this token that 
he had not forgotten them ! Many burst into tears — 
many who had not cared to attend divine worship in 
that cathedral for years. 

“ Oh, if we were but there ! ” they cried. 

“ ‘ I was glad when they said unto me. Let us go 
into the house of the Lord,’ ” repeated the priest. 

“This change, this lifting of the awful cloud, must 
have a ipeaning,” said the mayor. “ It has been sug- 
gested to me that I should send a messenger, an 
ambassador, into Semur.” 

All shrank from seeking to enter while those unseen 
ones still remained in charge. 


72 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“The mayor speaks at his ease; but who will risk 
himself?” It was Jacques Richard who thus inso- 
lently spoke. 

“ I will risk myself ! ” cried Dupin. 

A mocking voice in the crowd exclaimed, “ If there 
is any one sent, the priest should represent us.” 

The priest stepped forth, his pale face flushing. 

“Here am I ; I am ready! But he who spoke 
spoke to mock me. Is it reverent in this presence?” 

“Mayor Dupin,” said one, “we have been too 
indifferent in the past ; but for the future all shall 
be changed. Our ambassador must be empowered to 
promise everything — submission, obedience to all that 
those blessed unseen ones may command in the name 
of God.” 

Many of the women wept, saying, “Ah, it will be 
heaven on earth, if we comply with what the holy ones 
require ! ” 

Suddenly from the ramparts of Semur came the 
long peal of a trumpet, each person among that crowd 
feeling himself specially addressed. 

The commotion was intense : for all knew it was a 
summons — the beginning of a communication from 
those within the walls. The excitement was awful as 
from the gloom a single figure slowly emerged, till its 
nearer approach revealed one like unto themselves — 
Paul Lecamus. . 

Delivered from their terror at sight of one well 
known, all clustered about Lecamus, who gave the 
message with which he had been charged : — 

‘ ‘ They who have sent me would have you know 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


73 


that they have come to Semur in love, not in anger, 
and because it was divinely ordered. They are not 
the dead ; they are the immortal. They are those who 
truly live — elsewhere. They have other work — work 
that has been interrupted because of this trial. They 
ask, ‘Do you believe now? Do you believe now?^ 
That is what I am bidden to demand.” 

“ Ah, yes, yes, yes ! ” the people cried. 

Some wept aloud, and some held up their hands to 
the sk}^ “ Never, never again will we deny religion ; 
never will we fail in our sacred duties. They shall see 
how full the cathedral will be ! We know at last how 
awful it is for a city to be without piety ! ” 

“Then you are to send two representatives,” said 
Lecamus, “ two whom you esteem the highest, to 
speak to the unseen ones face to face.” 

Immediately there was a tumult among the people, 
and they elected and hurried Dupin and the priest for- 
ward to the city gates. 

“We promise — we promise everything ; only, let us 
return home ! ” cried the people. 

On the edge of the darkness stood Dupin and the 
priest : then the little postern of vSaint Lambert slowly, 
slowly opened and closed, and the two stood within 
Semur. There was a steady pale twilight by which 
they saw everything ; but not a soul was visible, not 
a shadow : all was vacant in the soft twilight ; nothing 
moving, nothing visible. The great doors of the 
cathedral were wide open and so was every lesser 
portal. How spacious the city looked ! how silent ! 
how strange ! 


74 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“We are ambassadors in vain,” said the priest. 
“ The message with which we came was known and has 
been accepted. Enough. Whoever they were who 
were in Semur, their visitation is over and they are 
gone.” 

“ I think so,” Mayor Dupin answered faintly. “ So 
far as mortal eye can see, we are alone in Semur. 
Have you forgotten your psalm? Our cathedral is 
now open to you, reverend father.” 

It was an inspiration from above, for the mayor had 
never been religious. With one impulse priest and 
mayor turned, crossed the silent square and ascended 
the great steps. All was fair and quiet in God’s 
beautiful house. The voice of the priest was broken 
by tears as it floated out upon the air and filled the 
sacred place. The mayor knelt behind him and wept. 

Then there came a sound that made their hearts 
leap — the bells of the cathedral pealing over their 
heads with hurrying notes and clang of rapturous joy ! 

Those outside Semur heard the sound and saw with 
wondering ecstasy the cloud and the mist and the 
darkness that had enwrapped Semur suddenly rise 
from the walls. The roofs of the houses reappeared 
and then the beautiful cathedral was revealed against 
the blue sky. 

Before night the population had returned through 
the no longer closed gates and the houses were 
illumined as for a festival. The cathedral doors stood 
open, with a glow of tapers gleaming on every side. 
The mother and wife of Mayor Dupin, leading little 
Jean, came out into the great square on their way to 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


76 


thank God for their return to Semur. The mayor fol- 
lowed with a slow and solemn step. The people 
ranged themselves behind him, also moving slowly and 
reverently on with uncovered heads, pale and worn 
with their late watching and anxiety. Those who 
had already entered the cathedral felt a thrill of awe 
as they listened to the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of 
the people ascending the steps and entering the long, 
broad nave. 

Then the priest sang the Te Deum.^ and as with one 
voice all that immense congregation sang with him. 
The massive walls of the ancient cathedral seemed to 
throb with the sound that rolled upward, as no holy 
song had ever risen in Semur in the memory of 
man : — 

We praise thee, O God : 

We acknowledge thee to be the Lord. 

All the earth doth worship thee. 

The Father everlasting. 

The Te Deum concluded, the Creed recited, and some 
penitential prayers offered, the people poured forth 
quietly and reverently from the cathedral into the soft 
evening, with the moon and stars shining above and all 
the friendly lights below : on they moved with deepest 
emotions of gladness and gratitude to God who had 
permitted them to return to their beloved home. 

Paul Lecamus was sought by many for an account 
of his stay in the city after they had gone. They knew 
him for a devout man, thinking much of the eternal, 
which is the unseen. They knew he had often grieved 
that they had been so blind and deaf to their highest, 


76 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


most sacred duty, but they did not know that he felt 
sure that God would arrest their indifference by a reve- 
lation which they must pause to mark and obey. Of 
all in Semur, he alone had not been surprised at the 
summons so suddenly gleaming on the great doors of 
his beloved cathedral. 

Overcome by agitating thoughts, Lecamus had sought 
his garden, where, seated under a trellis, he fell asleep, 
to awaken in the early dawn conscious that the people 
were passing — had passed — out of Semur and that 
he was alone therein ! On the closing of the gates 
he was conscious of a flow and movement of unseen 
beings, a passing to and fro without a sound, and ap- 
parent only to the soul. But the energy, the force, the 
life in the unseen ones were plainly perceptible. All 
seemed darkness in Semur to the exiles without the 
walls ; but it was only in seeming. The ramparts were 
wrapped in gloom, but within the city arose a sweet and 
wonderful light that was neither of the sun nor of the 
moon. After the ringing of the cathedral bells the 
silence also departed as the darkness had vanished. 
Lecamus began to hear a murmur of voices and then 
the words that were spoken. Every tone thrilled with 
gladness and hope : — 

Send us, send us to our fathers’ homes! 

Many are our brethren and dear. 

They have forgotten, forgotten, forgotten! 

But when we speak, then they will hear. 

Others answered : — 

We have come, we have come to the homes of our fathers! 

Sweet are the homes — the homes we were born in. 

As we remember, so will they remember. 

When we speak, when we speak, oh, then they will hear! 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


77 


As they sang, there was joy and expectation every- 
where. It was more beautiful than the music of earth, 
for it overflowed with desire and longing and yet also 
with hope and gladness ; whereas among us, where 
there is longing, it is always sad. 

Their song was of what they had come to do, of the 
help they yearned to give. Of those outside Semur, 
those banished ones, they thought and spoke with over- 
flowing love and tenderness. 

We have come out of the Unseen, 
they sang again. 

For love of you; believe us! believe us! 

Love brings us back to earth; 

Believe us! believe us! 

“ How was it you did not — could not hear?” asked 
Lecamus of the people who thronged around him. 
“When I heard those blessed singers, I wept: they 
swept the heart out of my bosom. The music floated 
all about the walls : — 

Love brings us back to earth ; 

Believe us! believe us! 

“After that there was a great change in the city. 
The choirs returned slowly from the ramparts and 
there was a sighing in all the streets, a sob breathing 
in the air : — 

“ ‘ They cannot hear us : or they will not hear us ! ’ ” 

“The whole city, where so many were coming and 
going to and fro, was full of wonder and dismay. 

“ ‘ They cannot hear us ! ’ they sighed. ‘ Our voices 
are not as their voices. They cannot see us ! We 


78 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


have taken their homes from them and they know not 
the reason.’ 

“Ah, how I longed,” said Lecamus, “that those 
banished ones should hear and that they should under- 
stand ! Semur was filled with this wish. Suddenly I 
was conscious of One passing through the city and as 
he passed I heard these words : ‘ Neither will they 
believe though one rose from the dead.’ 

“ A murmur floated up ; then there came a silence. 

“ I was forced to rise as by an unseen hand from 
the cathedral steps where I had been seated, and was 
led gently across the great square toward the gate of 
Saint Lambert. I went steadily on, never doubting 
that the gates would open to me, though I had not at- 
tempted to withdraw from the city before. The pos- 
tern rolled slowly open and I was softly put forth into 
the morning light, into the shining of the sun. 

“ I have now said all I have to say. The message 
I delivered was the utterance of those who lovingly 
sent me ; I can tell no more. ‘ Do you believe now? 
Do you believe now ? ’ ” 

Then the people of Semur slowly and silently left 
Lecamus and returned to their homes. One would 
imagine that they ever after recalled that merciful visi- 
tation reverently, and changed their lives according 
to its teaching ; but it was not so. Some remembered ; 
the many forgot. 

“You may wonder how my Belleville audience re- 
ceived the narrative. For some moments no one 
seemed to breathe ; then one arose and offered the 


AWAITING THE SUNSET. 


79 


most thrilling petition I have ever heard for a quick- 
ened faith in God — for faith to live remembering the 
Unseen and for a realization of ‘ the true meaning 
of life.’ Jean Valais grasped my hand and Pierre 
Latour was mute with emotion. Since that evening 
those two men have missed no service in Belleville. 
Ah, how the sunset is flushing the sky with beauty ! ” 

Against a background of azure, foam-white clouds 
were massed in lofty cliffs, while in the east lay calm 
lakes of silvery green or amber. More and more 
brilliant grew nature’s wondrous, beauteous painting. 
The sea seemed to vibrate in the glowing light, and a 
warm lilac mist tenderly caressed the silvery peaks 
of the distant mountain ranges. So gorgeous became 
the effulgence of color that the summer moon, risen 
on the opposite horizon, was also suffused and rested 
there, a great, softly gleaming ruby. The many 
islands, the hills, the lakes, the cliffs, the shore, quiv- 
ered in the radiance of the sunset. 

Each gazer was thrilled by the ethereal beauty 
according to the sensitiveness of his receptivity. 
Madame de Chavigni closed her eyes, intense mental 
pain written on every feature ; Miss Conway’s dear 
old face was calm, sweet, and thankful for another 
beautiful sunset ; Jack’s countenance was as usual, 
but his mind was thrilled with new emotions set flow- 
ing by the narrative of Monsieur de Rosambert ; 
Nelly stood by him, her face beaming — the im- 
personation of youthful hope ; Hester and Gudule 
impulsively clasped each other’s hand as the wild, 
indescribable marvel and glory in the west increased 


80 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


in loveliness and majesty ; Monsieur de Rosambert 
approached Hester, intuitively seeking her sympathy 
in his own delight in the wonders of color the sky was 
revealing and the earth repeating. 

“Hi! hi!” softly ejaculated Judith, enchanted, as 
are all her race, with splendor and variety of tint ; but 
forgetting the vision the moment she beheld suffering 
imprinted on the fair face of her beloved mistress. 

As they entered Bar Harbor, of all the radiant 
glory, there remained only, low down on the horizon, 
a vivid belt of cnmson burning against the heaving 
waves. The moon had mounted higher, her disk now 
silver clear — a crystal lamp irradiating sea and shore. 

Hester was oppressed by a sadness she could not 
explain. Had the day been too lovely? the sunset 
too pathetically beautiful? The face of Madame de 
Chavigui repeated the same sadness, but it was the 
sadness of an immeasurable sorrow. Hester and 
Gudule, painfully touched, longed to clasp the hand 
of the Creole lady in theirs, but by no word or ges- 
ture did they dare invade the reserve surrounding her. 


CHAPTER IX. 


ON BAR ISLAND 



lOR several days Jack was unusually silent. 


JL' When he did converse his tone was so ungra- 
cious and his replies so brief that his family were glad 
to allow him to dispose of his leisure as he chose. 
Fishing expeditions off Egg Rock and Schooner Head, 
or further up the bay above the Porcupine Islands and 
at Ball Rock, consumed much of his time. Some- 
times he would take a sail over to Sorrento, whence 
the beauties of Bar Harbor are seen as from no other 
point. Once he rode over to Sullivan and lunched 
alone at the Swiss Chdlet, commanding one of the 
grandest views along the coast. 

Jack, who had seen the Italian Sorrento, did not 
disdain its American namesake, though he grumbled 
because the old Indian name Waukeag had been 
discarded. 

Of what Jack thought or on what he meditated 
during these solitary trips no one dreamed save Nelly. 
She alone was unruffled by his sarcastic answers, till he 
strode in one morning with a book open at its fly leaf. 

“That is your writing ! ” he exclaimed. 


“ Who is the ‘ Jack ’ whose portrait you have drawn 
for general ediflcation or your own private gratifi- 
cation ? ’’ 


81 


82 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Nelly held out her hand for her copy of Whittier, 
her face suffused, her lips trembling, and her eyes filled 
with tears, distressed at the possible effect of what she 
had done. 

“ O Jack ! you will not understand ” — 

“Try me!’' he retorted grimly. “But first, did 
you intend this graphic picture for Jack Bolton or 
some other Jack?” 

“It was one morning in the garden, when I had 
been specially annoyed by your ” — 

“Humph! You may present me with this precious 
volume. Your lines of soliloquy are valuable to me. 
I ’ll preserve them as a memento.” 

Jack extended his hand, smiling down on her with 
an entirely unexpected merry laugh and sudden clear- 
ing of countenance, such as Nelly had not seen since 
the ascent of Green Mountain. 

“ I have forgiven you these stiff remarks — not partic- 
ularly gratifying to me — because you spent a half hour 
thinking only of me ; doubtless wishing I were more 
lovable ! Come and see my latest importation from 
Boston, and then we’ll go sketching to Bar Island.” 

“Oh! really?” 

“Yes, really! Am I not proving my forgiveness? 
But can j^ou care to accompany such a good-for- 
nothing as I ? ” 

“ You have improved. Jack. In this mood you are 
positively agreeable.” 

Jack laughed his mellow laugh ; it was very sweet, 
but seldom heard except by Nelly, and not too often 
by her. 


ON BAE ISLAND. 


83 


Hurrying his cousin away to one corner of the 
grounds, sheltered by blooming bushes and overhung 
by trees, Jack went down on his knees before a rabbit- 
hutch, his brown face all excitement. 

“O Helen! here’s a fellow in a dead faint! Was 
there ever any one more unlucky than I ? ” 

Nelly looked into the commodious hutch. One rabbit 
was ill, certainly ; but there were five others appar- 
ently healthy. 

“ Jack, you should allow them more liberty.” 

“They don’t know as much yet as Little Bopeep’s 
sheep, and would n’t come home.” 

“ I believe they would.” 

‘ ‘ Girls’ penetration and fondness for giving advice 
on a matter of which they know nothing ! ” scoffed 
Jack. “Nevertheless, on your recommendation. I’ll 
test these five brethren. If they run away or die — 
Here goes ! Off with you ! ” 

The rabbits were too much amazed to run ; but soon, 
finding their liberty no longer abridged, scampered 
away. 

“ As for this fellow,” pointing to the sick rabbit — 
a beautiful, snowy creature — “he is on the point of 
expiring, and not worth trying to save.” 

“Will you let me try what I can do for him?” 

“You, Helen?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He will not live out the day.” 

“ Poor, pretty little thing ! Was n’t sunshine sweet 
to it. Jack?” 

Nelly gently raised the rabbit and laid her ear 
against its side. 


84 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


“ Its heart beats faintly.” 

“How sorry you seem! What’s a rabbit? You 
can have dozens.” 

“ But never again this one. It grieves me to see 
it suffer. It should be so happy.” 

“ Take it, Nelly.” 

The little creature was tenderly carried from the 
hutch, deposited in a softly lined box, and placed 
in a corner of Nelly’s room, after she had adminis- 
tered to it a few drops of a ruby liquid. Then she 
sat down to care for it, while Jack departed for a 
moment, thrusting his head in at Meta’s open door. 

“Where is Nelly?” 

“ Nursing a sick creature.” 

“ A sick child? ” 

“ At the point of death, judging from the harrow- 
ing symptoms — eyes closed, pulse nothing, white as 
death.” 

Meta pushed aside her writing case. 

“How did Nelly find it?” 

“ Asked for it.” 

“ Where is the mother? ” 

“ Vanished to regions unknown ! It had five 
brothers ; but they left it to its fate.” 

“What wretches!” cried Meta, springing to her 
feet. 

“ Your indignation is commendable.” 

“ Was there no one but Nelly to care for this 
poor child?” 

“ No one.” 

“ I ’ll go at once and help her ! ” 


ON BAB ISLAND. 


85 


“You had better obtain mamma’s permission. If 
the patient has an infectious disease” — 

“Oh, is there danger for my dear, dear Nelly?” 
catching Jack’s strong arm. 

“ Your ‘ dear, dear Nelly ’ is safe. The only dan- 
ger is strength lost by nursing, and general prostra- 
tion of the nervous system.” 

“ I ’ll speak to mamma. Judson can relieve Nelly.” 

“Wait till you hear again from me,” and smother- 
ing a laugh Jack vanished. 

“ O Jack, the rabbit is better ! ” cried Nelly. 

“ Nonsense ! ’ 

“ Come in and see.” 

The pretty creature was nibbling some lettuce, its 
eyes bright, its frame full of new vigor. 

Jack indulged in a long, low whistle. 

“I believe you have bewitched it — sprinkled it 
with fairy water. Christen it with the name of the 
man who fell among thieves between Jerusalem and 
Jericho ; you are the good Samaritan, Helen. Let me 
carry the rabbit you’ve saved and deposit it in the 
hutch while we ’re at Bar Island ; but first, just show 
it to Meta, or she ’ll be following us with mamma, the 
housekeeper, and the butler.” 

Meta’s astonishment and indignation at Jack only 
increased her brother’s merriment, as he explained to 
Nelly the cause his sister had had for concern. 

“ I ’ll never believe you again ! ” 

“Oh, yes, you will ! Come, Nelly.” 

“ Where are you going 

“ Sketching.” 


86 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ But where? ” 

“We will tell you on our return.” 

“ Jack, you ’ll drown Nelly ! I know you ” — 

Jack vanished, carrying the rabbit. 

How blue was the heaving, sparkling bay ! How 
the sea gulls veered and dived and circled, then 
floated away on snowy wings to their lofty, rocky 
haunts ! 

“ It will be a rough row, Helen ! Do you mind — 
I mean, are you afraid?” 

“ Not in the least. Jack.” • 

“ Suppose the boat should upset?” 

“ I have no fear.” 

“ But imagine it ! Shall we go on ? ” 

Her smile shone on him and Jack pulled with a will. 

“It might have been better to have gone to the 
island on a smoother sea ; or to have waited till the 
bar was uncovered. It is a pretty walk, Helen. Some 
afternoon we will take it and have tea on the pebbly 
beach on the northern side. The sunset is fine there 
— such a view of Frenchman’s Bay, Bar Harbor, and 
the islands ! ” 

“ Yes. I heard your mother proposing a gypsy tea 
to Miss Conway and her friends, because the woods on 
the northern side were such a charming resort on a 
summer afternoon.” 

“It is even prettier in autumn, when the foliage is 
changing.” 

It was extremely difficult to land that day. Several 
times Jack thought the boat would upset — only he 


ON BAR ISLAND. 


87 


had braced his strong will and arms to prevent such a 
catastrophe. 

He adroitly balanced his craft on the edge of a 
wave, and then, seizing the advantage of an eddy, 
ran the boat up on the beach. 

The rocks were sharp and slippery. Their feet were 
wet and Nelly’s limbs lame before they had established 
themselves on just the jutting crag that suited them ; 
but the girl cheerily braved all discomforts — even 
forgetting them in the grand view, the delicious briny 
air, and the exhilaration attendant on accomplishing 
what they had desired. 

“ I am proud of my captain ! ” said Nelly, knowing 
they had been in some danger and appreciating the 
coolness and skill of her cousin. 

Jack’s sketching pad was open. 

“Turn your head a little more, Helen; I wish to 
catch your profile. That is too much ! I don’t care 
for the back of your head.” 

“ I ’ll transfer you to my book. Jack.” 

“ Nonsense ! Such a square face as mine is not 
worth taking.” 

“Very good for a study, you know.” 

“ On that ground, pray make a copy ! Helen, do you 
think a year with you would transform me? I mean 
seeing and hearing you every day, for one year.” 

“What an idea!” laughed Nelly. “I would like 
some one to transform me.” Then becoming grave 
she said in her own simple, direct way: “What we 
both need is the one perfect Example, Jack.” 

“ I understand.” 


88 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


“ Do you? And will you study with me?'’ eagerly 
masked Helen. 

“ No.” 

“ Then will you study alone?” 

“ No. I am not ready to take up the Gospels ! 1 

wish you could see the pile of Greek and Latin books I 
have to work on ; not to mention French and German. 
When 1 study, I study. There is no play in my work.” 

“ I know that, Jack.” 

Nelly’s brightness was quenched. Jack’s heart 
smote him as he remembered the knotted cord and 
many other unselfish kindnesses. 

“1 hate promises, Helen, because I’m committed 
to keep them ! But you have remembered to please 
me often and often ; and now I ’ll please you. If 
you’ll give me a Greek Testament, I’ll read it ten 
minutes a day.” 

“ O Jack!” 

“ Such a smile is worth ten minutes a day, Helen ! ” 
exclaimed Jack. 

“ Will it be at night or morning?” 

“Oh, at night! I’m in too big a hurry in- the 
morning. Do you suppose reading ten minutes a day 
would have saved the people in The Beleaguered 
City from that visitation?” 

“Who can doubt it — if they had believed and 
then obeyed?” 

“ Don’t forget to write my name and the date 
as a record of the rash vow I have taken to please 
you. Did I not promise on Green Mountain to give 
you a surprise equal to mine some day ? ” 


ON BAB ISLAND. 


89 


“You have certainly done so!” said Nelly, regard- 
ing her cousin with a beaming smile. 

“ I would have made that promise to no one liv- 
ing save yourself. Why ? Because you are — Helen ! 
That is all — and that ’s enough ! Now what will you 
sketch ? ” 

“ I would rather watch your pencil.” 

“ I had no idea you were so indolent. Let us copy 
that grand cliff on which a sea gull has just alighted.” 

“ Do gulls think, Jack?” 

“ In their way. It's instinct rather than thought; 
is n’t it? ” 

“I suppose so. How wonderfully beautiful it is! 
And it is only one of millions. O Jack, it has flown 
away! The pretty, silvery creature, free and gay!” 
cried Nelly, watching the bird as it floated across the 
sparkling bay. 


CHAPTER X. 


A summer’s day. 

H ester held in her hand a large bunch of 
flowers for Madame de Chavigni. Her inter- 
est in the lovely Creole lady had become stronger 
and deeper. The mellow, heart-winning voice, grace- 
ful movements, noble character and rare mental gifts, 
had awakened Hester’s warmest love ; while the sadness 
due to an agonizing experience, separating Madame de 
Chavigni from the ordinary joys of life, stirred her 
sympathy. In the companionship of the beautiful, 
sorrow-stricken woman she found the chief delight of 
each day. They read, talked and walked together, 
and the heart of the elder lady was more and more 
closely drawn to the young girl, whose love and repres- 
sion of curiosity concerning her life she gratefully 
appreciated. Constance de Chavigni enjoyed being 
loved and unquestioned as well as did Hester Wil- 
merding. Sometimes she felt almost ready to reveal 
to her the secret of her blighted life — that long, 
ceaseless, torturing memory ; and how her faith had 
been strained beyond its power to bear. She remem- 
bered only too well letters, words, and exhortations 
that had flowed in upon her from those who could 
advise but not sympathize, strengthen, or console, 
and shrank from those worthless comforters, wrapping 
silence and reserve around her more carefully, that 

90 


A DAY. 


91 


they might not approach too near. Though Hester 
had had no similar experience, she could enter into 
that of her friend and be silent, remembering that she 
was in an unknown realm. 

Leaving her flowers for Madame de Chavigni and 
carrying Basil’s last note in her hand, Hester went 
down the main street of Bar Harbor, longing for the 
solitude of the shore. Fringing gayly the wharves 
and jetties, canoes and rowboats curtsied gently on 
the slight groundswell. Sailboats, yachts, schooners, 
and small steamers were moving off between Mount 
Desert and Bar Island. In the delicious air and 
glorious sunshine Hester sought the sea. Along the 
beach small tide waves softly broke. Passing on, she 
crossed a wall of jagged rocks, at that low-tide hour 
revealing their grotesque forms, hewn by the long, 
rough roll of the sea. Beyond was a small cave 
almost free of water, where she saw countless sea 
urchins, their home overhung by rocks whereon 
cedars and hemlocks threw deep, cool shadows. Up 
higher grew black spruces and balsamic firs. She 
longed to climb and gather the feathery wreaths of 
ground pine which she knew were interlacing tree 
trunks, gracing rough gray stones, and wandering 
over beds of moss where in springtime the rosy arbu- 
tus deliciously scented the air. 

Hester went on till she came to another piece of 
open coast ; then she sat down on a rock, which in a 
few hours would be concealed by the foaming surge. 
Still she delayed opening Basil’s letter. Even his 
handwriting seemed a discordant note in the peaceful 


92 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


harmony of ocean, earth, and sky. Sailboats floated 
by ; steamers passed ; the sunshine grew warmer 
and the air more delightful. Tlie presence of the 
gulls completed the picture to Hester’s entire sat- 
isfaction. They circled above her and then paused 
in their flight on a lofty, jutting rock, where she 
contentedly watched their white wings glistening in 
the sunlight. Sky and sea — sky and sea! Oh, 
how indescribably beautiful and restful ! She allowed 
the moments to pass unheeded in her intense enjoy- 
ment. Then, with a sigh, she roused herself to open 
Basil’s note : — 


Ullescliffe Cottage. 

I am perplexed, Hester. There are moments when I am sure 
grandfather has recognized me. It certainly is not to my discredit 
that I have come to nurse him; yet lately his voice has been frosty 
and his manner far from pleasing. Shall I remain? I have de- 
bated and am debating the question, and am always confronted 
with a calm, firm “ Yes.” For away from Ullesclifte I possess no 
influence. With grandfather, attending carefully to his needs, 
reading aloud, playing chess, talking when he cares to converse, 
I have an opportunity to conquer his long-cherished aversion. 
Why should he not care for me? 

Yesterday he asked abruptly, “ Does Hester resemble her father 
or mother? ” 

“ She so closely resembles her beautiful mother that old friends 
of Mrs. Wilmerding immediately recognize her as her daughter.” 

For an instant a ripple of emotion passed over grandfather’s 
fine old face, only to leave it colder and harder. I believe he re- 
lented for that brief space; I believe he still loves his daughter’s 
memory; but former resolutions oppose him when nature cries 
for concessions. 

Dr. Duncan says he will pass away suddenly — while I am talk- 
ing with him or in his sleep or while he sits gazing out over the 
blue bay dreaming of many persons and events linked with his 
vanished years. 


A SUMMER'S DAY. 


93 


Is he aware of this? Yes. This morning I found him reading 
a sonnet of Michael Angelo : — 

My feeble bark hath almost reached the shore 
And life’s tempestuous sea is passed. 

He mused some moments and then said : — 

“ The longest day will have its sunset. Mine is near.” 

As to his real feeling toward us, my one gleam of light in the 
darkness is that if he has recognized, he does not dismiss me. I 
long to show him your miniature and my mother’s in the locket I 
always wear. But I hesitate, doubt, and wait. Are you happy? 
I trust you are enjoying Mount Desert. Dismiss all anxiety ; all 
will be well — all shall be as I have planned it 1 • b. f. w. 

The last sentence sent the shiver of coming ill 
through Hester’s nerves ; yet, what could Basil effect ? 
She smiled at her nervousness and chided her foolish- 
ness. The persistent dislike of her grandfather would 
only leave them as they were. After a few more 
weeks at Ullescliffe Basil would be convinced of fail- 
ure ; then perhaps he would confer seriously with her 
concerning their future. She pondered earnestly by 
what means she could support herself and free Basil 
from the unnecessary strain. She had not yet ques- 
tioned the De Rosamberts for fear of compromising 
or exposing her brother. 

“O Miss Wilmerding, is it here I find you? Miss 
Conway, Madame de Chavigni, and Gudule are anx- 
ious on account of your long disappearance. My 
sister said she had seen you walking toward the sea ; 
I volunteered to restore you. May I carry you back 
to Bar Harbor? ” 

At the voice of Henri de Rosambert Hester had 
risen from her rock to see that the tide was rapidly 


94 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


rising and that soon her return walk would have been 
an impossibility. The appearance of Monsieur de 
Rosambert’s boat was most opportune. 

“Oh, thank you ; you are very kind. I am sorry to 
have caused so much trouble.” 

“ No trouble ; but a pleasure, believe me.” 

“ Before we leave this lovely spot, Monsieur de 
Rosambert, do look at that great archway of granite 
spanning that little cove.” 

“ How resplendent are its hues ! The tide serving, 
we might float this boat in on the waves. The cove 
has sea anemones ? ” 

“Yes. There is a bit of pebbly beach on which to 
rest its keel,” said Hester, longing to attempt an 
entrance. “Ah, and I also see harebells growing in 
a cleft of the crag, but beyond reach. Pretty things ! 
always gazing on blue sky and sea and reflecting their 
color.” 

“ What becomo^ of their tender grace in storms?” 

“ They are still at home,” answered Hester, smiling 
brightly, and turning again for one farewell glance at 
the prismatic hues of the cloven rock, the harebells, 
and the foliage of the trees above the archway where 
chance seeds had sprung into such life and beauty. 

“The coast of Maine is unusual, is it not, even 
in your wonderful country ? ” asked Monsieur de Ro- 
sambert, rowing toward Bar Harbor. “ I find the sea 
everywhere interpenetrating the shore. Its deep bays 
hide^ in primeval forests into which ships might glide 
and conceal themselves.” 

“ I am told it is so, monsieur. And the coast is so 


A BAT. 


95 


beautiful with overhanging foliage. Have you noticed 
the large variety of evergreens ? ” 

“ With much interest. 1 saw yesterday firs, pines, 
cedars, white pines, and hemlocks, and was assured 
that one might find other members of that family. 
From the boughs of the old hemlocks I gathered 
long, gray moss floating in most picturesque beauty. 
Higher up the bank we found the birch and larch. 
Gudule and I are wishing to remain for the autumnal 
glory.*’ 

“ To see Aladdin’s glowing garden of gems ! Miss 
Conway has told me of the brilliant effects of the 
scarlet sumachs, rock maples, golden larches, beeches, 
and birches flaming against the blue-black spruces and 
cedars dark as night. You do not have the Indian 
summer in France, monsieur?” 

“ No ; but we have in southern France much of what 
I conceive your soft, hazy days to be ; a tranquillity 
and dreaminess — almost sadness — veil earth and 
sky.” 

A breeze had quickened the waves, gulls drifted by, 
sails gleamed in the brilliant sunshine. Every rock, 
cliff, cape, and distant headland lay clearly etched 
against a clearer sky. Close at hand the long branches 
of the somber spruces and shaggy hemlocks bending 
to the sea enhanced the lovely effect of dazzling sun- 
light and the measureless blue distance of the horizon 
line. 

“How I love color!” cried Hester. “When a 
child the mere naming of the jewels in the wall of the 
New Jerusalem fascinated me.” 


96 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ Have you learned the significance of the order as 
well as the meaning of those precious gems ? ” 

“ No, monsieur ; but how I wish to ! ” 

‘‘ Then permit me to give you one of the most 
beautiful pictures of their meaning by one of your 
own people.” 

“ And you have come from France to show me what 
I should have found before you came ! ” answered 
Hester, smiling. 

“ Do not desire to deny me the pleasure of offering 
you a few sentences from one of your own writers, 
mademoiselle : — 

The crimson jasper that lies at the beginning is the color of 
passion, suffering. Out of the crimson we climb into the blue of 
the sapphire — that is truth and calm. Beyond is the glistening 
white chalcedony of purity. And next flashes out the emerald’s 
green — the hope of glory. 

Then they mingle and alternate— the tenderness and the pain 
and the purifying; the veined sardonyx reveals that — the life 
story ; the blood-red sard is the sixth gem — the whole triumph- 
ant love that contains and overwhelms all passion — the intense 
blessedness with its included anguish. It is the middle band — the 
supreme and central type; crowning the human and underlying 
the heavenly. 

Then the jewels grow clear and spiritual: chrysolite — golden 
green, touched with a glory manifest; the wonderful sea-pure 
beryl — that blending of the rarest, serenest blue; then, the sun- 
filled rapture of the topaz ; next, the chrysoprase, where flame and 
azure find each other— “the joy of the Lord,” and “the peace that 
passeth understanding.” And last, the purple jacinth and the vio- 
let of the amethyst, into which the rainbow refines itself at its 
close— a dream of far-distant. Ineffable beauty. 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” was Hester’s only response. But 
Monsieur de Rosambert had seen in her expressive 



A SUMMBJi’/S DAY. 97 

face each thought-picture clearly reflected as in a 
mirror. 

“ In the Revelation,” said Hester, “ One is faintly 
shadowed — ‘ to look upon like a jasper and a sardine 
stone : and a rainbow round about the throne, in sight 
like unto an emerald.’ Does not that sentence suggest 
the hidden meaning of the gems? ” 

“Your writer agrees with you: ‘The wall of 
jewels was an alphabet ; it gave the key to the 
whole radiant language. Without such key to its 
types, no wonder persons puzzle over the Apoca- 
lypse ! Read the aspect of the Son of man, “ like 
unto a jasper or a sardine stone,” as the fervent 
attesting colors of suffering and love, and how full 
the divine face and presence are, though so briefly 
suggested ! ’ 

“ I like to believe that not only is it natural for 
me to love color, but that I was meant to under- 
stand and enjoy one of God’s divinest gifts to his 
creatures ; he wished me to understand and appre- 
ciate it ! ” 

“Never doubt it! Earth, sea, and sky overflow 
with hidden treasure to broaden, deepen, and enrich 
every hour and moment of the day. The depth of the 
sky — how should we know it without the blue ? The 
rest and the shadow of the earth and the great trees 
— what would they be without the green? Look at 
the azure above us and the broad, cool shade from 
those old drooping hemlocks along the shore. And 
listen ! ” 


98 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


Monsieur de Rosambert rested on his oars. A bird 
was singing amidst a clump of silver birches : — 



/ o 


W t 



_ ^ 

^1 [ 

f( 

A m 



A: 



—J L 


Oh, the deliciousness of those notes, repeated again 
and again slowly, sweetly, and clearly ! 

“‘And the bird shall be my harper in the dream- 
hall I have won,’” quoted Hester, enchanted with that 
never-before-heard song, its lovely cadence nestling in 
her heart and dimming her vision of sweeping hem- 
locks, silvery birches, and sparkling wavelets softly 
curling and breaking on the shore. 

Once more the music floated from the forest ; then 
there was a fluttering of the foliage and on tiny russet 
wings the small bird flew away. 

“ Its message given ” — 

“Just what I was thinking!” exclaimed Hester. 
“ It has faithfully, truthfully sung what it was pledged 
to sing. Oh, to be thus loyal to every slightest and 
greatest trust committed to us ! What a row this has 
been to me ! I have learned the meaning of the beau- 
tiful gems ; and then there was that lovely new song 
and the associations and memories it will always 
carry.” 

The heavy weight Basil’s note had thrown on her 
heart was gone. 

“It is well to be thought lost by one’s friends, 
sometimes. Monsieur de Rosambert,” she said, her 
face beaming gratefully for all the pleasure of the 


A BAY. 


99 


past sunny hour. Believe me, I am forever indebted 
for all your boat has brought me.” 

“ And I am too happy ” — eagerly answered Henri 
de Rosambert ; then, checking the impetuous words 
thronging for utterance, he shipped his oars, saying 
quietly: “At last we have reached Bar Harbor, 
mademoiselle ! To prove me trustworthy, pray accom- 
pany me to Miss Conway, Madame de Chavigni, and 
Gudule.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


BORNE BY THE SEA GULL 


I, little wanderer, how alarmed we were ! ” cried 



JA. Gudule, linking her arm in Hester’s when the 
two elder ladies had welcomed her. “ Henri’s arrival 
alone relieved our anxiety, for he promised to discover 
your retreat and restore you. See what a pile of 
letters I have written since you deserted us ! ” 

“ To your Parisian friends? ” 

“ To ray mother and those for whom we have been 
so busy in that happy work. They care to be remem- 
bered from far-away Amerique ; and I can sometimes 
write more consoling words than I can speak. Is it 
so with you? And then, those children! You have 
not heard of Henri’s lovely Home some miles south of 
Paris, for the little neglected ones?” 


“ My brother said that to save them he must take 
them quite away from their evil, unwholesome sur- 
roundings. He purchased a very large, airy, fine old 
residence and then secured a matron, nurses, teachers, 
and many servants. Several hundred boys and girls 
are at this moment in that sweet, pure air learning 
what is only good and noble.” 

“ What a beautiful charity ! ” exclaimed Hester. 

“Is it not? And how they love him! When he 
arrives it is always a f^te for the little children. They 


BOBNE BY THE SEA GULL. 


101 


have their garden, playground, and library ; also, a 
chaplain, who gathers them around him morning and 
evening and conducts the pleasant Sunday service. 
Ah, my brother — but I cannot tell you half he is! 
To-morrow is his jour cle fete, as we say in France ; 
his ‘ birthday ’ as you name it here. Cannot we make 
him a surprise? a special pleasure? Cannot we hear 
some fine music? Bar Harbor is at its fullest, Miss 
Conway tells me ; but it is not of the gay society I 
think or care ; one finds that everywhere in summer 
time. I would like a sail on the sea, or to go up some 
mountain with a beautiful view, a drive or a walk of 
which we know nothing.” 

‘‘Let us consult Miss Conway; she knows Mount 
Desert so thoroughly.” 

In the middle of a conference Jack Bolton came with 
an invitation from Bayview for the next morning. 

“A Russian gentleman and his little daughter are 
with us whom we met in Paris two years ago. Ma- 
dame Viazemski was then dead, and Olga is never seen 
apart from the count, her father. She has brought 
her Russian nurse too — Marfa. They entertain 
me all day long. The little one speaks French and 
English as fluently as her own soft, sweet, odd 
tongue.” 

“ So Henri’s jour de fete is arranged for him,” said 
Gudule, as at eleven the next morning Miss Conway, 
Hester, Madame de Chavigni, and the De Rosarnberts 
entered picturesque Bayview, its blue and white 
awnings fluttering in the breeze, its charming rooms 


102 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


fragrant with roses. The grand piano was open ; a 
gentleman distinguished in face, manner, and bearing 
was arranging some music on its rack ; at his side 
stood a lovely girl of eleven — her blond hair, blue 
eyes, and fair complexion proclaiming her a true little 
daughter of the North — oblivious of all the room con- 
tained save her father. 

Conversation and exquisite music filled the morning 
so delightfully that Gudule confessed no prearranged 
f^te for her brother could have conferred greater 
pleasure ; and when, after luncheon, the Sea Gull was 
suggested as ready to bear them forth to the beauty of 
sea and shore, her contentment was complete. 

Madame de Chavigni and Miss Conway, standing on 
a grassy bluff in the grounds of Bay view, watched the 
departure of the little party, promising to ‘await their 
return at the cottage. 

The pretty, -empty house suddenly seemed sad to 
Miss Patty, who sat down at the grand piano, not 
to play classical music, but some of the dear old- 
fashioned, rarely heard sweet Scotch ballads she used 
to sing when a girl at home. “ ‘ The dear, the brief, 
the forever remembered ’ — what days those were ! ” 
Miss Patty thought. Not one beloved face or voice 
now left to greet her of all those who sat near her 
when she sang ! Then she remembered Hester and 
her heart overfiowed. She seemed dearer and nearer 
now than any one else to the lonely old heart. Why 
should not the young girl live with her? How she 
would brighten and fill the large, handsome residence 
in New York, that seemed so desolate to Miss Patty ! 


BOBNE BY THE SEA OULL. 103 

Then, when the time came for her to pass away to 
her rest, Hester should inherit all she possessed. It 
was a sudden daydream of joy, such as Miss Patty 
had not known for years. Hester was the first young 
creature who seemed like her own kin — alas ! all 
gone. Miss Patty ceased playing, so interested and 
excited was she in her beautiful air castle ; and she 
resolved it should be no building so unsubstantial, 
but a happy reality. She recalled what she had heard 
in the city of young Wilmerding and his wild, reckless 
habits, which unfitted him for the guardianship of his 
lovely sister. Then she joined Madame de Chavigui 
on the veranda, from which they could just catch the 
white wings of the Sea Gull gleaming in sunlight as 
she glided farther and farther from Bar Harbor. 

“ Such glorious weather to sail away in ! ” Hester 
was thinking, while Miss Patty was lovingly, tenderly 
planning her future. 

‘ ‘ The blue of the sky and the blue of the sea so 
wonderfully reflect each other,” said Henri de Rosam- 
bert, seated beside her. 

“And the yacht floats as lightly and easily as a 
bird ! Your f^te day is a great success. Monsieur de 
Rosambert.” 

“You have not given me your good wishes, made- 
moiselle.” 

“ Pray believe they are most cordial and sincere.” 

“As I glance back at the twenty-eight years, 
they seem but a month, a week, a day. And so 
much to do — so very much, when rest shall have 


104 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


prepared me to resume my happy work with fresher 
energy ! ” 

“ Yours is a full and noble life. Oh, if ” — 

ti If ? ” 

“I wish you to know my brother — to help him. 
You do help every one, don’t you?” 

“Where is your brother?” answered Henri de Ro- 
sambert, instantly responding to the wistful, childlike 
trust of the appeal. 

“In Bar Harbor nursing a relative who is ill. Basil 
— Basil would rather not have it mentioned.” 

“I have forgotten it already, mademoiselle! But 
to minister kindly to one who is ill is very com- 
mendable.” 

“ Yes.” But Hester’s face expressed pain and her 
companion saw she was not happy or at rest in the 
knowledge. 

“When we meet, trust me to do all I can,” he 
returned, in so earnest a tone that her burden of 
anxiety seemed suddenly lightened. With such a 
friend — a real friend — as Hester knew Monsieur de 
Rosarabert would be if he gave his friendship to her 
brother, from what might he not yet save Basil ? Oh, 
if she could only confide all her perplexity and ask 
his opinion and advice ! But this was impossible ; so 
the brave heart controlled the impulse and the sweet 
lips were mute when she would so gladly, thankfully 
have spoken. 

The Sea Gull was now passing Schooner Head and 
Spouting Horn. There was no chance to enter Ane- 
mone Cave, for the Atlantic was joyfully tossing great 







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BOBNE BY THE BE A GULL, 


105 


buoyant waves far into its recesses to the rapture of 
each exquisitely tinted dweller in that cavern of 
the sea. 

Farther south, rose Great Head in its giant strength, 
confronting the wild waste of tossing waters that 
boomed and broke so harmlessly against the savage 
grandeur of the precipice ; while westward, in startling 
contrast to this lofty, rugged cliff, lay the pretty, 
smiling meadow, fringed by the shining sands of 
Newport Beach. Just beyond, the mighty organ hid- 
den in Thunder Cave’s deep chasm was responding 
in tremendous tones to the monstrous billows playing 
on its bass keys and trampling on its pedals with the 
reckless abandonment of an exultant, unspent force. 
Still further southward beyond a stretch of broken, 
curving shore, the Otter Cliffs soared suddenly sheer 
and straight, dark and stern against the dazzling blue 
of the summer’s sky. How still, how grand, how 
strong they were to meet the gales that rave and 
sweep around their summit and the thunderous roar 
and immeasurable might of the roused Atlantic at 
their base ! 

The Sea-Gull veered and spread her wings toward 
Bar Harbor. Olga Viazemski, nestling against her 
father, watched now the shore and now her com- 
panions, weighing them in the balance of her child’s 
quick fancies. Jack Bolton, ready to tease, and 
seeking an opportunity, found none ; the little Rus- 
sian resolutely ignored his attempts at conversation. 
She instinctively felt him to be antagonistic, and won- 
dered how Miss Nelly could smile when he addressed 


106 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


her. Toward Monsieur de Rosambert and sunny-faced 
Gudule she glanced approvingly ; had she been less 
shy she would have delighted to ask them many ques- 
tions concerning the sea and shore and sky. Hester 
charmed her ; how lovely was her face, how graceful 
every movement ! Why had Madame de Chavigni not 
accompanied them, and kind, winning, old Miss Patty, 
to complete the group? The beautiful profile of the 
Creole lady had fascinated Olga’s vivid imagination ; 
it was the face of one she had met only in dreams. 
Mrs. Bolton, Meta, and Miss Forbes were unnoticed ; 
there was not one line in either face to arrest her 
attention or captivate her fancy. 

Crimson clouds were beginning to reflect themselves 
in the tranquil sea’s blue mirror. As the sun de- 
scended, white sails glowed a rosy lilac and the curv- 
ing crest of each slow wave burned with ruby fire. 
When moonlight frosted the islands, gleamed on the 
bay, and silvered the woods, cliffs, and mountains of 
Mount Desert, the Sea Gull glided back to her own 
quiet harbor, where a gala tea at Bay view awaited 
those she had borne so lightly across the shining sea. 

“If you were sleeping, would you care for that. 
Jack?” asked Henri de Rosambert as he was returning 
to the hotel that evening. 

In mid-heaven beamed the moon, a broad belt of 
dazzling silver resting dreamily on the bay. 

“What can a sleeper know of the exquisite trans- 
figuration of the dawn shining on the hills, or the 
radiance of such a perfect night as this ? But waken 


BOBNE BY THE SEA GULL. 107 

him, and his heart exultantly responds to the lovely 
vision.” 

“Am I asleep?” asked Jack, understanding the 
significance of the question and its relation to the 
Beleaguered City. “ Then blessed be slumber ! I am 
happy and contented as I am.” 

“ Pardon me for having interpreted your face more 
than once to-day. Remember, I too have been a lad 
and know well the thoughts and doubts that pain and 
weary you. Let me help you, if I can.” 

With a hand clasp firm and earnest, that Jack did 
not disdain, the two separated, the latter reluctantly 
yet loyally reading for ten minutes as he had promised, 
wondering whether Helen’s little book, that awakened 
so much vexing thought, were most his friend or foe. 

Sleep carried him to the banished ones outside the 
old walled city of Semur, where, with a broken heart 
yearning for reentrance to its quiet, peaceful streets 
and the tranquil, holy shadow of its stately, beautiful 
cathedral, he listened to the celestial voices floating 
above the ramparts with their pleading — “ Do you now 
believe ? Do yon now believe ? ” With a choking sob 
and a thrill in every nerve he cried : “ I do ! I do ! ” 
and found himself within the ancient cathedral chant- 
ing the grand Te Deum among a rescued, weeping, 
overjoyed multitude of men and women and little 
children such as he could never, never number ! 

When he awoke. Jack seemed to have lived years 
since Henri de Rosambert’s last question. 


CHAPTER XII. 


OLGA VIAZEMSKI 



OUNT VIAZEMSKI was obliged to visit Wash- 


V_y ington before the arrival of the Russian minister 
at Bar Harbor, and during his brief absence he en- 
trusted his little daughter to the special care of Helen 
Armitage, in whose companionship the child had man- 
ifested deep delight. It was marvelous to witness the 
self-control of the little golden-haired Russian when 
told that she could prove her love to her father by 
quietly remaining at Bar Harbor, obedient to each 
request of her hospitable hostess and her young niece. 

Long after Count Viazemski left Mount Desert she 
remained crouched in one of the shaded bay windows 
quite still, her face pale, her lips mute. Suddenly she 
spoke to Nelly, who, all sympathy, was longing to 
console, but afraid of aggravating her suffering. 

“ I have lost my pencil. Will you lend me yours ? ” 
“ With much pleasure. Is there anything else I 
can do for you ? ” 

“No; thank you.” 

Crouching again on the wide window seat, Olga 
opened her writing case and proceeded to write a 
letter. Page after page she covered with Russ, its 
written characters so similar yet dissimilar to our own 
that one is deluded and nonplused at every line. 
Sometimes tears fell on the page ; oftener the lips 


108 


OLGA VIAZEMSKL 


109 


trembled and no tears fell. After two sheets were 
filled they were folded carefully and placed in an en- 
velope. Searching for an address in a corner of the 
writing case, Olga discarded Russ and traced clearly 
in English characters her father’s name and the hotel 
in Washington. After she had stamped the letter, 
Nelly rang the bell, and a servant was dispatched to 
mail the loving, tender words that would so rejoice 
the fond heart of the receiver. 

Jack entered the library ; Olga at once gazed out of 
the window and in a few seconds sought another 
apartment where she had seen a glass pipe of curious 
device lying on the sill of one of the broad windows. 
She had noticed Jack blowing gorgeous soap bubbles 
the day before — noting the prismatic effects, for a 
paper which he was writing. 

Without one word Olga seized the delicate pipe 
and flew to her bedroom, where Iier maid was sewing. 

“ Into the basin — quick ! some water ! ” 

JMarfa obeyed. 

Dashing the soap wildly to and fro, Olga soon 
had a mass of frothy waves. Filling the pipe, she 
leaned far out of the window, launching a transparent 
globe painted with most lovely hues into the sweet 
still air. 

Jack, strolling about the grounds of Bayview, 
glanced up to behold his peculiar property in the slen- 
der hand that had often before played havoc with his 
belongings. With a bound he sprang up the staircase, 
down the long gallery, and with scarcely a knock 
rushed into the apartment, where the pretty bubble 


110 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


blower, quite at her ease, was refilling the fragile 
crystal pipe. 

“ You mischievous Russian monkey ! ” 

Olga vouchsafed no response. 

“You ’ll break that pipe, I tell you ! Come ; give 
me my pipe.” 

“ Wait.” 

“I’ll give you such a fine clay pipe — white as snow.” 

“ I don’t care for your clay pipe. You may blow 
bubbles from the clay pipe.” 

“ Will you obey me?” 

“No.” 

Jack seized the little Russian’s hand. 

“ Let it go ! ” cried Olga, her blue eyes flashing. 

“ Not until you give up that pipe.” 

“ I won’t give it up ! ” 

“ You shall.” 

“ You have pinched me ! There — see your pipe ! ” 
dashing it into fragments against the window sill. 

“ You little vixen ! ” exclaimed Jack, taking refuge 
in flight from a strong inclination to shake his com- 
panion. 

Marfa rose in great agitation. She was ashamed 
that her beloved charge should thus have demeaned 
herself, and began a voluble lecture in Russian on the 
lamentable events of the past few seconds. 

Olga turned her back and catching up some paper 
and Nelly’s pencil proceeded to draw what she called 
“ pictures.” Certainly her lines were very slanting, 
but it was a house she had produced, with an abun- 
dance of casements all out of the perpendicular. A 


OLGA VIAZEMSKL 


111 


remarkable beast stood at the door of this residence, 
on which a figure was gracefully mounted in the same 
sloping manner. 

Helen entered the apartment. Olga presented her 
sheet of paper. 

“ What is that, Miss Nelly? ” 

“ You meant it for a house.” 

“ Yes. Is n’t it a good house? ” 

“ Might n’t it be a little straighter ? ” 

“ No.” 

Nelly restrained a smile, waiting seriously for the 
next question. 

“ What is that at the door?” 

‘‘ I don’t know.” 

“ Yes ; you do. You have them in your stable.” 

“ Then it must be a horse.” 

Olga nodded. 

“ Who is that on the horse?” 

“I — I can’t quite discover,” replied Nelly, conceal- 
ing a smile behind her handkerchief. 

“ It ’s I — Olga Viazemski ! ” 

“ Is it?” Then Nelly’s merriment could no longer 
be concealed. 

Olga, though on the verge of another passion, 
refrained from all manifestation of wrath. Perhaps 
the recollection of the shivered pipe calmed her ; she 
was momently anticipating the return of Jack accom- 
panied by his mother. 

“ Haven’t you something to tell me?” finally asked 
Nelly. 

“ No.” 


112 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“What have you been doing since you left me in 
the library?” 

“ Playing.” 

“Playing?” 

“ I have been playing with soap bubbles.” 

“That’s a pretty pastime; but the pipes Aunt 
Bolton ordered yesterday have not arrived.” 

“ They ’re not so slow in Russia ! ” 

“ With what pipe did you blow bubbles?” 

“I took — yes, I took,” stamping her tiny foot, 
“Mr. Jack’s glass pipe ; and I smashed it — see? 
there against the window, after he pinched me.” 

“You used his pipe without permission?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Are you not sorry you broke that pretty ciystal 
pipe?” 

Graceful vines clustering round the window were 
casting silver leaf patterns on the carpel. Olga traced 
their outline with her foot. 

“ Are you not sorry? ” 

“No; he pinched.” 

“ But that was such a pretty pipe ! It came all the 
way from Paris wrapped in fleecy cotton — a gift to 
Jack.” 

‘ ‘ Did he cry — to-day ? ” 

“ Big boys do not cry ; but they are sorry.” 

“Oh, it made beautiful, beautiful bubbles !” look- 
ing up at the sky. 

“ And you broke it.” 

Olga bent over the leaf shadows silently, but her 
lips trembled. Presently a large tear dropped, then 


OLGA VIAZEMSKL 


113 


another and another. In an instant she had thrown 
herself face downward on the floor, sobbing. 

Nelly, full of compassion, sought to lift her. 

“ Let me be ! Let Olga Viazemski be ! ” 

“ I know you are sorry, my dear little Olga.” 

“Oh, can’t I buy Mr. Jack another pipe?” sud- 
denly springing from the floor to rush for a more than 
well-filled portemonnaie and emptying its contents into 
Nelly’s lap. 

“ That is all mine. Papa gave it me.” 

“ Would you not rather earn the money? To send 
for a pipe the breaking of which caused another 
regret and that you can easily replace with no effort 
of self-denial ” — 

“Oh, is that what you mean? Papa often speaks 
thus : ‘ Olga, thou must never give that which costs 
thee nothing. It is not generous, my little darling.’ 
But how can I earn money ? ” 

“ I ’ll give you a poem of Whittier’s to learn.” 

“And I’ll put a rouble — what do you call it in 
America? — in this pretty little leather bag for every 
verse ; ” and away she flew to find a small bag of 
sweetly scented Russian leather lined with pale green 
satin. 

“ But a rouble is worth seventy-five cents of our 
money ; that is too much. You would earn the pipe 
too easily.” 

Olga laughed. “ Then let me drop in a kopeck ! ” 

“ Less than our cent? That is too little. Place 
a silver dime in the bag for each verse you recite vvith 
taste and feeling.” 


114 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“‘Taste and feeling’! Oh, could I? But I’ll 
have bidden good-by to Bar Harbor long before I Ve 
earned enough to buy such a crystal pipe ! Did you 
see that small dragon sitting on its bowl ? ” 

“Yes. All depends on how industrious you are. 
But first, you broke the law of love in destroying 
Jack’s property.” 

Olga seemed puzzled. “ It was not right? ” 

“ Why was n’t it right? ” 

“ The pipe did not belong to me.” 

“No; it was your neighbor’s. How should you 
love your neighbor?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ What is that little book yonder?” 

“ A copy of the Gospels in Russ. But I can read 
them in English too ; papa taught me. Did you know 
Russians learn every language easily ? ” <1 

“ I have heard so.” 

“It is the truth — a gift, papa says. Can you 
speak Russ?” 

“ No ; I wish I could.” 

“ Every one says it is so hard. To us it is so easy, 
so easy I ” laughing and opening the small volume to 
which Nelly had referred. 

“ Is it in this book I ’ll find about my neighbor? ” 

“ Yes. Look at the tenth chapter of St. Luke and 
read me the twenty-seventh verse. 

“ You ’ll not understand ! ” cried Olga archly, and 
then read the verse. 

“ Mr. Jack is my neighbor. Is that what you 
wish I had remembered ? My neighbor whom I am to 


OLGA VIAZEMSKL 


115 


love as I love myself. Then I should not have broken 
his pipe. Did he not forget I was his neighbor when 
he commanded me to lay it down and then — pinched 
me?” 

“ Doubtless,” laughed Nelly. “ But you are only 
responsible for your share in the afternoon’s mishap.” 

“ Now I understand. Please show me the poem. 
Forty-six verses in ‘ My Soul and I’ ! Can I remem- 
ber forty-six verses and recite them with — what did 
you say ? — ‘ taste and feeling ’ ? ” 

“Try!” 

“ I ’ll try. I must buy another pipe ; Russians are 
always honorable, you know.” 

Olga’s merriment melted into a sweet seriousness as 
she read the opening verses of “ My Soul and I.” 
There needed no further indication that, though so 
youthful, she would recite Whittier’s poem in full 
sympathy with its thoughtful beauty. 

A week later Jack was translating several pages of 
tough Latin, his pen often pausing in its journey to 
the little silver owl that served for an inkstand. He 
was thinking more than translating. 

Olga ran into the room, her little Russian bag in her 
hand. How gayly it jingled 1 

“ What is in that bag ? ” 

“ Can’t you hear?” was the laughing answer. 

“ Is it money? ” 

“ It is money.” 

“ Who gave you that money? ” 

“ I earned it.” 


116 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


“ You ! ” and Jack laughed merrily. 

“ Can’t I earn money? ” 

“ You ’re too much of a sprite.” 

Olga’s eyes darkened with anger and her cheeks 
flushed. 

“ How did you earn that money? ” 

“ I ’ll not tell ! ” 

“ It ’s time you answered a civil question.” 

“ What is ‘ a civil question ’ ? ” 

“ Don’t bother me? Don’t you see I’m writing?” 

Olga gazed at her little bag. The money in it 
she had honestly earned by industry and self-denial. 
The sun and breeze had often wooed her to seek them 
on the shore and she had resisted both, to learn an- 
other and another verse in that long poem for the 
sake of thq^ disagreeable boy ! Suppose he never 
again possessed a beautiful crystal pipe — how imma- 
terial ! But the generous impulse and honorable in- 
stinct triumphed ; she wished to restore what she 
had broken. Approaching the table, she earnestly 
gazed at Jack. He had a pleasant face when he was 
quiet. 

“ Travel off ! ” he exclaimed. 

“Oh, what is that!” admiringly regarding the silver 
owl. “ What a beautiful creature I What yellow 
eyes 1 In Russia I have a stuffed owl as white as 
snow. He stands on the top of an ebony piano and 
listens when papa plays.” 

“Give me what you have earned and perhaps I’ll 
give you my owl. I bought him in Geneva the day 
after we reached Switzerland.” 


OLGA VIAZEMSKI. 


117 


“ I ’d like that owl ; but I must buy something. I 
can^t tell now.” 

Jack, to tease her, seized her bag, thrusting it into 
his pocket. 

“Oh, you naughty, wicked neighbor!” cried Olga, 
bursting into tears. “ See!” and with one stroke of 
her hand she upset the silver owl, to behold the ink 
streaming over books and papers and quickly gliding 
to the floor. 

“ I’ll be even with you this time, you lawless little 
Russian ! ” exclaimed Jack, thoroughly exasperated. 
With one bound he dashed through one of the long 
French windows, Olga swiftly following. 

“ Oh, don’t — don’t! ” she cried. 

But even as she expostulated, she saw the little, 
fragrant bag flung over the cliff into the sea. 

Pale with excitement and grief, Olga uttered not 
one word. Nelly came hastening from the cottage. 

“What is it?” 

“ I have at last paid your little Russian countess in 
a coin she will remember ! ” 

“He tossed my bag” — Olga hid her face on 
Nelly’s shoulder, passionately sobbing. 

“ It is not possible. Jack ! ” 

“ It is quite possible, Helen.” 

“ That bag contained money Olga has been patiently 
earning that she might buy you another crystal pipe.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” 

Nelly, remembering many a half hour which Olga 
had given to study, felt her heart throbbing and her 
eyes filling with tears. She embraced the trembling 


118 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


child more fondly, whispering many tender, soothing 
words in her ear. 

But the money was lost in the sea and the little bag 
lay there too ! Olga refused to be comforted. 

Jack strode up and down, excessively angry with 
himself, frankly admitting that his teasing had caused 
the upsetting of the owl, and caring more for Olga 
than he had ever imagined possible. 

“Earning money to replace that pipe!” he mut- 
tered. “ I ought to have given it to her long before ; 
it was a plaything just suited to catch a baby’s fancy. 
Poor little Russian ! ” 

As Nelly and Olga disappeared, a sudden idea sent 
him leaping down the steep cliff path. He would 
restore that bag, if it were not in the depths of 
Frenchman’s Bay 1 He was unfastening his boat to 
search along the shore, when to his delight he saw 
the little leather bag caught on a sharp spike of the 
rock, but far above his reach. 

With energy Jack scrambled up and up, cutting 
his hands and bruising his limbs, but utterly indifferent 
to the pain. 

Half an hour later he rushed into Bayview to find 
Olga leaning against a window, quiet and sad. Nelly 
was narrating a story to which she was not listening. 

“Halloo!” he cried exultantly. “Do you know 
this?” 

“Oh, my bag — my bag!” her blue eyes radiant 
as she rushed to receive it. 

“ Are we friends now? Will you shake hands with 
your neighbor ? ” 


OLGA VIAZEMSKL 


119 


Olga’s hand was at once extended. 

“ Promise me not to worry over that detestable old 
glass pipe ! Buy something pretty for yourself — 
do!” 

“ I am sorry I upset your silver owl — very sorry ! ” 

“I’ll soon remedy that. You don’t bear a 
grudge ? ” 

“ What is ‘ grudge ’ ? ” 

“ Since you don’t know the word, I think you 
can’t,” replied Jack, laughing and flying away to 
change his coat, the sleeves of which had been torn 
and soiled in his rough scramble. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THROUGH THE GORGE, 



ISS PATTY was deeply absorbed in her plan for 


Hester’s happiness and her own. She longed 
to talk with her and seized the opportunity when she 
had invited her friends to take the beautiful drive from 
Bar Harbor to Otter Creek on the southern shore, 
whence such an exquisite view of the sea, the charm- 
ingly rounded spurs of Newport Mountain, and the 
long slopes of Green Mountain are obtainable. No 
view from Bar Harbor is comparable to that from 
Otter Creek. 

Another radiant morning dawned for the excursion, 
and Miss Patty, in as radiant a humor, filled the wag- 
ons, placing Hester by her side — the very touch of 
her affectionate old hand seeming to establish closer 
relations between them. Hester was sad and anxious ; 
no note had come from Basil and she would rather 
have remained at Bar Harbor for the chance of its 
reaching her later. 

The horses started, and they were off at the usual 
rapid rate of Mount Desert travel. In the pure and 
delicious atmosphere every feature of the island was 
etched in bold and clear relief. Sweeping over the 
lower ridge of Pemetic, whose lofty, sharp, and ser- 
rated crown cleaves the sapphire sky, they caught 
a glimpse of the picturesque, curving road to the 


120 


TnnOUGH THE GOBGE. 


121 


north, where crystal Jordan’s Pond sparkles in its 
rugged mountain setting, reddens in sunset and dark- 
ens with shadows when floats over it the lonely cry 
of the loon. Three miles from Bar Harbor they 
entered the narrowest part of the Gorge — a deep 
and narrow valley lying between Green and Newport 
mountains. 

At a signal from Miss Conway the horses were 
stopped. In the fragrant stillness could be heard the 
deep voice of the sea on the other side of the cliffs 
that walled in the ravine. Green and tranquil was the 
shadowy Gorge ; sunlight bathed its tree tops, bluest 
sky gleamed through the rifts in the foliage whence 
floated bird notes of delicious sweetness. 

“ Hark ! ” exclaimed Miss Patty. 

In “ the silence that seemed to come from far and 
go afar” was heard the silvery voice of a cascade 
upon the mountain side. 

Olga caught Nelly’s hand in an ecstasy of enjoy- 
ment. Each listener, in his or her measure, responded 
to Nature’s appeal as they had responded to the sun- 
set on Green Mountain. On the sensitive face of 
Madame de Chavigni lay again that expression of 
mental pain. Hester saw it, and her heart throbbed 
with sympathy. 

“ ‘ Each on his cross must hang awhile,’ ” she 
thought. “ There is no evading the anguish that in 
one form or another is the fate of all. To what end? 
Does suffering invariably exalt, refine, purify? Does 
it not oftener crush, exhaust, or render desperate 
those who know there can be no escape?” 


122 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Monsieur de Rosambert turned to Hester as if aware 
of her painful musings and silently handed her a spray 
of harebells he had gathered when the horses paused 
in the Gorge. 

Tears clouded her eyes as she gazed on the azure 
flowers and felt the sympathy that intuitively under- 
stood her mood and gently ministered. 

The beautiful ravine was now behind and they were 
hastening to “ The Cottage,” where, descending from 
the mountain wagons, they entered the narrow path to 
the Otter Cliffs through a pine wood decked with long 
sprays of fantastic gray moss and carpeted with soft, 
velvety green. A bold rock towered in their path, 
half circled by lightning-blasted trees — a weird and 
lonely thing, haunting one’s memory on a moonlit 
night. Thence out and on to the great Otter Cliffs, 
soaring sheer and straight from the restless Atlantic. 

Hester bent over the edge of the grand headland 
and saw that it corresponded, only in a lesser degree, 
to Great Head, the curving shore between the mighty 
twain enclosing a bay, sparkling Newport Beach, and 
the hidden organ in Thunder Cave, played by the 
weird spirit of the sea. 

Miss Patty clasped Hester’s hand in hers. 

“ I have such a happy plan, my dear, for you and 
me,” she said. “ I have learned to love you, Hester 
— to depend upon you ; to earnestly desire that, when 
summer is over, it need not part you and me. Do you 
share this feeling? ” 

“ Oh, yes, dear Miss Patty ! I shall be only too, 
too sorry to say good-by.” 











A SPUR OF THE OTTER CLIFFS 








THROUGH THE GORGE. 


123 


“It is to avoid saying it that I now entreat you 
to promise to come to me — to make your home with 
me ; to live with me always, dear ; and after I have 
gone away, to still retain my home as yours. That is 
my wish — ■ my most fervent wish.” 

Hester, startled and keenly touched, was mute. 

“ Do you like my air castle, dear child?” 

“But oh, it cannot be! there is Basil. Had you 
forgotten Basil, who has no one but me?” 

“You brother is too young to guard you, Hester; 
and — may 1 say it? — I fear too reckless. He has also 
many expenses. You know a sister, even if he loves 
you, and of course he does, is an additional burden. 
By coming to me you might relieve him.” 

Hester could have sobbed, so sorely did her heart 
ache. It was only too true ; Basil was in no condi- 
tion to incur a fresh expense or to assume a heavy 
responsibility. 

“I never meant to burden Basil, dear Miss Patty. 
I have thought of a way, simple but certain, I hope, 
by which I can support myself.” 

“ Never, while I live, nor afterward, shall you do 
that, Hester!” exclaimed Miss Conway. “I love 
you ; it will delight me to take care of you.” 

Hester’s trembling lips and tear-dimmed eyes re- 
vealed her gratitude. 

“ I cannot promise now, dear, dear Miss Patty,” 
she murmured. “ I must talk to Basil.” 

‘ ‘ He will never say you nay ! ” 

Hester tried to smile ; then, overcome, tears rolled 
down her cheeks and she turned away. 


124 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


The harebells still nestled on the breast of her pale 
gray gown and attracted Madame de Chavigni’s admi- 
ration. 

“ How delicately lovely they are ! ’’ said she, drawing 
Hester’s arm through hers and walking slowly to and 
fro in sight of the great glowing spaces of sea and 
sky. Sails were drifting by and a large eagle floated 
majestically toward the Gorge. 

Olga, perched on a safe spur of the cliff, between 
Jack and Nelly, was talking gayly. Gudule, Meta, 
Mrs. Bolton, and Miss Conway were debating whether 
they had better seek Otter Creek Cove on the other 
side of the cliffs, or ascend Newport Mountain. The 
party was summoned and decided on the latter plan. 

Hester, at Madame de Chavigni’s side, was notice- 
ably silent. Miss Patty’s unexpected proposition had 
overcome her. She, who had been so anxiously pon- 
dering what path to pursue, would be entirely relieved 
from perplexity if she chose to accept Miss Conway’s 
generous proposition. Was it the will of God for 
her? How should she know? 

The sound of a galloping horse was heard behind 
them and a lad from their hotel leaped down and 
handed a package to Monsieur de Rosambert. He 
was rewarded by a silver dollar and returned to Bar 
Harbor in a state of bliss. 

Henri de Rosambert sought Hester, who was at the 
moment alone. 

“Oh, a letter from Basil!” she cried, at once 
comprehending that she owed present relief from anxi- 
ety to the kind thoughtfulness of this new friend. 


THBOUGH THE GORGE. 


125 


‘ ‘ How shall I thank you ? How could you know I 
was longing for this letter ? ” 

“A little bird whispered it in my ear ; also, it was 
most necessary I should receive my own mail from 
France.” 

“ One gift of kindness after another comes to me 
to-day ; ” and in the fullness of her heart she told Henri 
de Rosambert of Miss Patty’s loving offer of a home. 

“ But your brother would never suffer the loss of 
your companionship ! ” 

“ He may be obliged to,” answered Hester sadly. 
“ It has not gone so well with him lately.” 

“ Ah, I am grieved for you.” 

“And for him — for Basil be sorry too. I so wish 
to have you meet and help him ! He would listen 
to you.” 

“ Will his duties detain him much longer? ” 

“ I cannot say ; perhaps this letter may tell me.” 

The party was moving on, and Hester, Madame de 
Chavigni, and Henri de Rosambert were mounting the 
easy ascent through the woods to the ledges. The 
forest was vocal with bird notes and fragrant with 
the balsam of firs and pines which the warm sun was 
wooing for the breeze. With sweet flashes of blue 
sea below them and azure sky above them, on they 
went to the top of Newport Mountain, that offered a 
fine walk across its long, flat ridge overlooking the two 
thousand feet of Schooner Head, down, down into the 
chafing sea. Far out, the Atlantic seemed to slumber, 
wearing its magic hues of purple, blue, and green ; 
but beneath the precipice the power of this summer- 


> 


126 AT MOUNT DESEBT. 

like sea was visible in the great waves that swept into 
the caverns along the shore, breaking and scattering in 
a million flakes of foam, and heard in the deep moan- 
ing voice that uttered itself forever in defiant exulta- 
tion over its own tameless strength. 

At the outer end of the ridge the friends sat down 
in sheltered nooks to talk and feast their eyes on the 
lovely, delicate outline of distant hills on the main- 
land, or the nearer panorama of sea and shore and 
fairy islands, round which curled and broke the blue- 
green waves in silvery foam. 

Hester, who had strayed a little apart, opened her 
letter : she must catch one glimpse of life at Ulles- 
cliffe, whither her foreboding thoughts wandered night 
and day. 

Ullescliffe Cottage. 

I thought the end was approaching last night. Grandfather had 
been very weak all day. At sunset he sank into an almost fainting 
condition. Dr. Duncan and I labored without pausing and tinally 
were rewarded by a partial rallying. Several times he called 
faintly, in the most imploringly painful voice — “ Lucy! O Lucy 
— Lucy ! ” then closed his eyes. If it were not remorse that wrote 
the lines on brow and mouth, I know nothing of the feeling! 
Suddenly he rose into a half-reclining posture : — 

“Did you say, Fortescue, that Hester Wilmerding resembles 
her mother?” he asked me in so sharp a tone that I was startled. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Would you like to see her?” I ventured to respond after a 
• moment. 

“No! What is Hester Wilmerding to me?” Then, though 
under his breath, I caught the words, “ Or her brother either!” 

Now I know that he has recognized me. Why am 1 not dismissed 
if he is proof against my claim? I am much encouraged, and hope 
his aversion is lessening. Sometimes 1 think it would be wise for 
you to visit Ullesclitfe unannounced, but Dr. Duncan says the 
shock might increase the heart malady. 


■THBOUGH THE GOUGE. 


127 


Three hours Zaier.— Grandfather called me and said: “I saw 
a locket dangling from your vest this morning: what is in it?” 

I gave him one glance and knew that only the truth would con- 
tent him. 

“ The miniature of my dear mother and sister.” 

“ Please detach the locket and hand it to me.” 

I obeyed. He held it some moments unopened. 

“ You may leave me,” he said. 

I retired to the next apartment, from which I could see his chair 
distinctly. For a second or two he seemed to hesitate, to exercise 
a strong, almost painful control ; then slowly he turned the gold 
locket in his hand and more slowly, almost reluctantly touched 
its spring. 

Glancing at the sweet faces, he looked away, then glanced again 
and continued gazing. Presently large tears rolled down his 
cheeks and 1 heard him groan — almost sob in very anguish of 
heart. “Will he acknowledge me?” I thought, longing, yet not 
daring, to rush into the room; instinct whispered that he did not 
wish to own our relationship even then. 

I saw him close the locket and drop it in his breast pocket. He 
called me. 

“For the little time, Fortescue, let me keep it. Go and walk 
for half an hour; I do not need you.” 

But I did not obey. I only went out on the veranda and sat 
down, not willing to leave Ullescliffe, though his manservant was 
within call. 

What do you think now, Hester? Will not grandfather relent? 
Will he not make a just restitution? May we not hope all will be 
bright in the future ? I no longer forbid your mentioning where 
I am. It will be best — wise — to do so. b. f. w. 

Hester mused. This letter contained more consola- 
tion than any that had preceded it. She was so glad, 
so glad that her grandfather had seen her mother’s 
lovely face again ! How many years the hungry heart 
must have yearned for that glimpse ! She longed to 
go to him, though he was quite a stranger. For her 
mother’s sake she felt toward him so tenderly, so 


128 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


tenderly ! It was not his wealth that she craved, but 
his love. And time was passing so swiftly ! That night 
might bear him so far away that she could neither see 
him nor hear him speak. She sprang to her feet. 
Oh, if she could return to Bar Harbor ! 

Henri de Rosambert approached. He had seen 
Hester’s sudden change of attitude and understood it. 

“ Cannot I aid you ? Do allow me.” 

“ If you could only hasten this party back to Bar 
Harbor! May I tell you? Oh, I must — and Basil 
says I may. It is my grandfather who is so very ill,” 
she continued hurriedl}", her sweet face flushing and 
her eyes filling with tears. “ Basil writes that he is in 
a very critical condition.” 

“ How he must long to have you with him ! ” Henri 
de Rosambert exclaimed involuntarily. 

“ No, no I ” answered Hester. “ He does not care 
for me. I only wish he did ! There was a misun- 
derstanding — he never forgave my dear mother’s 
marriage.” 

“ I understand,” gently responded Monsieur de 
Rosambert. “We can return immediately, I am sure. 
There are two letters of mine that must at once be on 
their way to France.” 

Hester thrust Basil’s note in her pocket while she 
watched Monsieur de Rosambert conferring with Miss 
Patty. 

“ You must return? Then we will all return,” said 
she. “We have had a long, delightful excursion and 
it is quite time we were on our way to Bar Harbor.” 

A grateful glance from Hester rewarded Monsieur 


THROUGH THE GORGE. 


129 


de Rosambert, and presently the party was in motion. 
They drove through the Gorge where western shadows 
were long, and horizontal shafts of golden light irra- 
diated trees and turf. Afar upon the mountain side 
was heard again the voice of the cascade mingling 
with the sad, deep monotone of the grounds well of 
the sea. Pale pink wild roses still starred the hollows. 
The breeze and the bright moonlight lured them to 
linger, but the horses could pause no longer and they 
rolled on in the direction of the shore and home. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SAINT GUDULE S LANTERN, 


HE letters of Monsieur -de Rosarabert were an- 



JL swered with all possible dispatch and he soon 
came to escort Hester to the house of Dr. Duncan to 
inquire when she might venture to go to her grand- 


father 


Miss Conway, Gudule, and Madame de Chavigni 
were full of sympathy, for Hester had confided all that 
was possible of Basil’s letter. On referring to its 
date, she discovered it had been written on Monday ; 
this was Wednesday. What might not have happened 
since ? 

The warm hues of the sunset had faded in the west. 
In the east, amid some rosy clouds, still floated the 
moon that had beamed on them as they drove through 
the Gorge. Frenchman’s Bay, no longer azure, spread 
toward the mainland a great width of soft gray, while 
on the horizon a golden gleam from the lighthouse 
on Egg Island quivered like a star. Some one in a 
boat was singing a melancholy air that affected Hester 
painfully. Monsieur de Rosambert saw the emotion 
and said gently : — 

“ No real evil is coming ; only a good, a blessing 
you do not yet understand.” 

“ ‘ Only a blessing I do not yet understand ’ ! Oh, 
what words those are ! They are so full of rest and 


SAINT GUDULE'S LAN TEEN. 


131 


courageous faith that I believe I am stronger already.” 
Her face, glowing with a grateful smile, was lifted to 
her companion’s and her steps involuntarily quickened 
and her heart beat more rapidly. 

The dark cloud of apprehension had passed away 
when she reached Dr. Duncan’s. He was leaving his 
office, but returned on seeing Hester and Monsieur de 
Rosambert. 

“ Your grandfather? There is a decided change for • 
the better ; but the softening I observed lately has un- 
fortunately disappeared from mannei-, face, and voice. 
As Mr. Harcourt is now, he will refuse to see you.” 

“ I am very, very sorry.” 

“ Do not regret it, dear Miss Wilmerding. It would 
only pain you to be greeted coldly and harshly. I be- 
lieve this mood will change and that he will soon send 
for you.” 

“ Oh, do you think so?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then I must wait with what patience I may.” 

Hester returned to the hotel, meeting Jack Bolton, 
who had rushed over from Bayview to borrow a book 
Hester had promised Nelly. 

Receiving the volume. Jack returned to the cottage, 
finding Olga established in the library sewing for her 
doll, while the family were entertaining friends in the 
drawing-room. 

Olga glanced from the ’bit of silk she was fashioning 
into a bonnet and saw that Jack was watching her. 

This notice angered her at once, and she turned her 
chair farther from him. 


132 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


He laughed teasingly. 

‘ ‘ What is the name of that big creature across your 
knee?” 

No reply. 

“ Do you call that article you are making a bon- 
net?” looking at the blue silk that now adorned the 
head of the costly wax doll upon which Olga was fast- 
ening some gorgeous bows of pink satin. 

“ It is a bonnet ; and a very pretty bonnet,” she re- 
torted, forgetting to maintain a reserved and indifferent 
demeanor. 

“If you’ll make yourself such an affair and wear 
it to church next Sunday, I ’ll gladly rob my purse of 
the necessary funds.” 

No reply save the darkening of Olga’s blue eyes 
and a lovely color mantling her cheeks. 

This was what Jack wished to see — the mood he 
desired to provoke. 

“Nelly told me,” he blandly continued, “that you 
had been taking drawing lessons from her. I remem- 
ber some remarkable specimens of talent when you first 
arrived,” recalling with a laugh the rickety buildings 
and their mounted occupants. 

“You don’t believe in my drawings!” Olga cried 
hotly, jumping up for her portfolio. “ I have had 
lessons and I don’t draw tumbledown houses any 
more. See ! ” exhibiting a very picturesque cottage 
encircled by a lawn, on which were growing graceful 
bushes and two or three' fine old trees. They were 
extremely well drawn, as Jack, much amazed, instantly 
acknowledged to himself. 


SAINT GUDULE'S LANTEBN. 


133 


“Well!” ejaculated Olga, waiting for a gracious 
commendation. 

He did not reward her ; an elevation of his eyebrows 
was his only comment and criticism. 

She closed the portfolio with an energetic bang, 
exclaiming : — 

“ You’re a very, very — Oh, I can’t bear such a 
neighbor 1 ” 

This was what Jack was longing to hear, and he 
laughed delightedly. 

“ I do wish you would go away ! Miss Nelly is com- 
ing presently to tell me a story and show me a puzzle.” 

“ Let me hear the story and see the puzzle.” 

“ No, no 1 You ’ll only tease.” 

“ But if I am very solemn?” 

“ What is ‘ solemn ’ ? ” 

“ If you ’ll allow me to remain, I ’ll show you.” 

“ Oh, I don’t want you ! ” 

“ Where did you find that doll? ” 

“ Papa and I found her in Brussels.” 

“ What is her name? ” 

“Gudule.” 

“ That is Mademoiselle de Rosambert’s name ! ” 

“Isn’t it pretty? The cathedral is named after 
Saint Gudule, who was a Belgian countess.” 

“ I know all about it ; I have been in it.” 

“ And do you remember the great windows — all 
purple and blue and crimson panes ? and the figures ? 
and the great oak pulpit? Adam and Eve and the 
angel with the flaming sword are under it ; and above 
is the serpent holding the canopy, and above it — papa 


134 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


told me this meant so much — the Virgin Mary and 
the holy Child, who is bruising the serpent’s head 
with his cross.” 

“I don’t remember — yes, I believe I do. But I 
only cared for the glorious colors in the ancient win- 
dows staining the stone pavement of the solemn old 
cathedral. It might be different now,” Jack added 
in a musing tone. Then turning to Olga he asked : — 

“What were you singing to Helen last evening?” 

“ I was singing to myself.” 

“All alone?” 

“ All alone.” 

“ That must be dull.” 

“ No.” 

“ Sing it to me : it was something about ‘ a green 
hill far away.’ ” 

Olga regarded Jack wistfully. She was wondering 
whether he would care. 

“ Do repeat it, if you ’ll not sing -it.” 

Shei hesitated a second and then, much to Jack’s 
amazement, complied : — 

There Is a green hill far away, 

Without a city wall, 

Where our dear Lord was crucified. 

Who died to save us all. 

“ What is the name of that hill, Olga? ” 

“ Calvary.” 

“ And the city ? ” 

“Jerusalem. Papa has been there; all noble Rus- 
sians go to Jerusalem. Do you know why the cross 
was not set up inside the walls ? ” 


SAINT GUDULE^S LANTEBN 


135 


“ No/’ 

‘‘It was against the law, Miss Nelly said.” 

“ ‘ Who died to save us all.’ Every one, Olga?” 

“ Every one ; if they ask him.” 

“ Suppose they don’t ask?” 

“ Then they can’t care much ! ” 

“ Go on.” 

We may not know, we cannot tell 
What pains he had to bear; 

But we believe it was for us 
He hung and suffered there. 

“ Are you sure it was for us? — you and — me, for 
instance.” 

“Papa and Miss Nelly say so. They have shown 
me the verses in the Bible that say so.” 

“ You are sure he died for me?” 

Jack’s eager gaze rested on Olga. Only to the child, 
who he thought would not criticize his words, could he 
speak freely. 

“ It must have been for you.” 

“ But I have never realized it.” 

“ What is ‘ realized it’ ? ” 

“ Believed it.” 

“ Don’t you now?” 

Jack was startled. The question was similar to 
that asked by those who had been sent in mercy to 
Semur. 

“Perhaps I am beginning to. Is there another 
verse ? ” 

He died that we might be forgiven, 

He died to make us good. 

That we might go at last to heaven. 

Saved by his precious blood. 


136 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ I can’t understand — can you ? — why Christ should 
have cared so much.” 

“ Because he loves us.” 

“ Why does he — how can he — love us ? ” 

“I don’t know — unless because there is no one 
else to help us. I wish you would ask Miss Nelly.” 

“I would rather question you. Remember! you 
are not to mention to any one what I have said. I 
turn this subject over in my brain as I turn everything 
else ; but I do not choose to be commented on.” 

“ What is ‘ commented on ’ ? ” 

“ Talked about.” 

“ I do not like that, either ; and it is not polite.” 

“ ‘ He died to make us good.’ How does he? ” 

“ He gives his Holy Spirit to teach and help us.” 

“ Do you ask him for that good Spirit? ” 

“Sometimes. I hate to be naughty! And yet — 
I ’m not often anything but naughty. I must wish to 
obey more than — Oh, I can’t tell you. Don’t you 
understand ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” answered Jack honestly. 

“Then, perhaps, neither you nor I would have car- 
ried Saint Gudule’s lantern two miles in the cold, 
dark winter mornings to light the way to the church at 
Moselle. Satan hated to see her go and blew out the 
flame in her little lantern ; but the pra3"er of Gudule 
relighted it and she went on her way.” 

“ That ’s only a pretty legend.” 

‘ ‘ But it was meant to teach us how good Gudule 
was and what we ought to be.” 

“ I don’t care to go to church even when it is warm 


SAINT GUDULE^S LANTEBN. 137 

and the sun shines ; so I ^11 never overtake Gudule, 
you see.” 

“ Because you don’t wish to ! I notice you always 
do just what you wish.” 

“ Since when? ” 

“ Since the moment I came to Bar Harbor.” 

“ Are you tired, Olga?” 

“No.” 

“Then finish the hymn.” 

There was no other good enough 
To pay the price of sin; 

He only could unlock the gate 
Of heaven, and let us in. 

Oh, dearly, dearly has he loved. 

And we must love him too, 

And trust in his redeeming blood. 

And tx’y his works to do. 

“Thank you.” 

Helen entered the room. Olga ran to meet her, 
asking in a low tone, “May I?” 

“Now?” 

“Yes; now.” 

“ If you choose.” 

Away rushed Olga, returning in a moment with a 
long, narrow white box which she shyly handed Jack. 

“ I was sorry and I am sorry ; but I give you 
another.” 

“What is it! O you child! You have not sent 
for ” — opening the box and drawing from the soft, 
pink wool, a fragile crystal pipe. “ I am really 
ashamed of myself ! Thank you a thousand times, 
Olga ! But now, to please me, you must use it to 


138 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


send the beautiful bubbles floating over the bay and 
carry it tb Russia, as a memento that we are good 
friends and ‘ neighbors.’ Will you?” 

“ When I go to Russia it must stay here to remind 
you of me.” 

“ I ’ll never forget you, and some day you ’ll see me 
in Russia, and then ” — 

Jack had walked to the end of the room and taken 
from a drawer in his own special library a carefully 
packed parcel. Untying the cords, he took out a 
very handsome inlaid ebony box. After adjusting the 
key at one end of the box, and turning it many times, 
he raised the lid, and lo ! the sweetest, most fairylike 
music floated througli the room and out of the open 
windows toward the sea. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Olga, thrilled and trembling with de- 
light and amazement as one lovely melody succeeded 
another. 

When the instrument stopped playing Jack closed 
it, asking her to examine its cover. On a small silver 
plate was engraved : — 

OLGA VIAZEMSKI. 

FROM HER NEIGHBOR 

J. B. B. 

“It is — Oh, it cannot, cannot be! ” Olga gave 
the inscription another glance and burst into tears. 

“Yes, it is; and it can be! Take it, Olga, and 
when you are in St. Petersburg let it sing to you of 
Mount Desert days and your penitent ‘ neighbor.’ 
See, here is the key. Wind it up, that we may hear 
its voice once more.” 


SAINT GUDULE'S LANTEBN. 


139 


Olga dried her tears, and, full of joy and gratitude, 
learned how to apply the key to her new treasure. 

“ Was the ‘green hill far away’ one of the poems 
you learned to earn the money to buy that pipe ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Thank you very much. I ’ll always keep what 
cost you so much unselfish labor. It was hard work, 
wasn’t it? I’m sure a beam from lovely Saint 
Gudule’s lantern fell on you and inspired the 
thought ! ” 

“ It shone on your cousin Nelly, and she shone on 
me ! Good-night — good-night ! ” and Olga Viazemski 
went to her room and fell asleep to the melodies of 
her beautiful gift, after beseeching for a big blessing 
on her “ neighbor J. B. B.” 

Jack walked out on the grassy bluff from which he 
could see the bay softly gleaming and hear its waves 
breaking on the rocks below Bayview. Attended by 
stars, the moon still shone in the sky and a whip-poor- 
will’s clear song floated from a clump of birches. 
Gazing and listening, he paced to and fro for an hour, 
then went up to his room and was seen no more 
till morning. 

In a dream he beheld Saint Gudule bearing her 
lighted lantern along the dark Belgian road, softly 
singing, like Rolf of old : — 

My Lord and God, I pray 
Turn from his heart away 
This world’s turmoil. 

Oh, call him to thy light— 

Be it through sorrow’s might, 

Through pain or toil. 


CHAPTER XV. 


CAUGHT IN THE FOG. 

T HP^ sea was an undulating floor of sparkling 
sapphire. Monsieur de Rosambert declared 
that such a morning must not be passed on shore. 
Shortly afterwards Hester, Gudule, and he were on 
the Sea Gull on their way to Fernald’s Point and 
Cove, near Southwest Harbor. 

The sky was cloudless, and a soft breeze filled the 
sails and gently impelled them over the sunlit sea. 

“ Why are we going to Fernald’s Point and Cove, 
Henri?” asked Gudule. 

“ Because it would be quite unpardonable to visit 
Mount Desert, my sister, and not see the haven that 
hid our French missionaries from the storm.” 

“ When did they leave France, and whither were 
they going ? ” 

“ They sailed in 1613 to carry the gospel to Acadie 
— the new France of those days, the New Brunswick 
of to-day. Our Henri IV had granted the tract to 
Sieur de Monts. Later this nobleman transferred the 
gift to Madame de Guercheville, maid-of-honor to 
Marie de M4dicis. Henri IV was then dead and 
Louis XIII enlarged the royal grant.” 

“ Ah, that gives to this shore a feeling of home,” 
exclaimed Gudule, gazing at the mountains of Mount 
Desert wistfully. 


140 


CAUGHT IN THE FOG. 


141 


“ While you and Mademoiselle Wilmerding rest on 
those comfortable cushions I will read a few sen- 
tences from a little book Miss Conway placed in my 
hand at parting : — 

Madame de Guercheville, a religious enthusiast whose con- 
fessors were Jesuits, conceived the idea of converting the heathen 
who inhabited this, her western possession, and planting the cross 
in Acadie. On the twelfth of March, 1613, a vessel with forty-eight 
colonists and sailors and two Jesuit priests, Fathers Quentin and 
Du Thet, set sail from Honfleur for the coast of Maine. She was 
commanded by a French courtier. La Saussaye, and had also on 
board Henri de la Roche Guyon, a relative of the great Madame 
de Guercheville, the patroness of the expedition. 

On the sixteenth of May they touched at Port Royal, when 
Fathers Blard and Mass6 joined them and the vessel sailed on, 
seeking the mouth of the Penobscot River. But heavy weather 
drove them close upon the land, the fog surrounded them, and after 
forty-eight hours of terror they found themselves beneath the 
clifls of Mount Desert. 

“ Ah, the relief ; but alas, the homesickness ! ” said 
Gudule. “ And then ” — 

When the tide would permit, they landed and raised the cross 
amid prayer and thanksgiving, naming the spot Saint Sauveur^ in 
gratitude for their escape from the storm. Visited by Indians, 
who had an encampment near, they soon learned of a more de- 
sirable site whereon to found their home — Fernald’s Point. 

Then came Argali, the English governor of southern Virginia, 
fishing for cod along the coast of Maine. Learning of the French 
colony, with cruel ferocity he swept away the priests and every 
vestige of the mission station. Du Thet was killed, Biard carried 
to the English colonies, and Mass6 and a few companions alone 
left to find their way to Port Royal, if it were possible. 

“ And our people came no more to Mount Desert? ” 
asked Gudule. 

Not till the reign of Louis XVI. Miss Conway 


142 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


promises to drive with us some morning to Hull’s 
Cove, two miles from Bar Harbor, where we shall 
find the graves of the De Gregoires — descendants of 
that celebrated Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, who 
received the third grant of this beautiful island from 
Louis XIV in 1688. But now we must greet the fa- 
miliar scenery of the shore, and Miss Conway’s little 
book can await another hour.” 

Fernald’s Point and Cove were full of interest ; then 
they returned to Southwest Harbor, and a drive to 
White Beach, which Miss Patty had specially men- 
tioned, was proposed. 

Leaving the yacht, they were soon off the beaten 
road, entering one of those curving, fascinating paths 
winding on and on through a wood of birches and 
evergreens. Suddenly there was a descent from the 
level, and there, at the head of exquisite Long Pond, 
lay White Beach, gleaming in the sunlight. Shadows 
from Carter and Western mountains rested on the 
water. The absolute tranquillity of the scene, the re- 
moteness of the lovely spot, the green of the circling 
forest, the azure of the lake formed an alluring picture 
of romantic grace. 

While they were delightedly gazing, in a moment 
the light was obscured ; a wind, rising far away in 
the lonely mountains, swept down with eerie voice to 
agitate the dreamy water. The trees moved uneasily, 
bending their great branches before an awakening, 
mysterious power they knew and dreaded. The party 
drove quickly back to Southwest Harbor, where they 
reembarked on the Sea Gull. 


CAUGHT IN THE FOG. 


143 


The radiance of the morning was gone. Clouds 
dimmed the sky, and an ocean breeze, searching and 
chill, drove them on rapidly. Dick Tenby, the skip- 
per, was at his post, silent and preoccupied, encourag- 
ing no questions concerning the weather. 

“ She ’s coming ! Yes, there she comes ! ” suddenly 
dropped from his lips as there rose on their view the 
mighty, overhanging cliff of Great Head, the heavy, 
restless surge booming at its base. 

Around the bleak precipice, on a level with the 
shore, the fog glided on aud ever on, stealthily, yet 
with relentless speed. It was ghostly gray, creeping 
over the water, shrouding the outlying islands as it 
sped, and ever rising till the trees had vanished, then 
the cliffs, and soon the mountains. Thicker, darker, 
more sinister grew the fog, more wild and chill the 
wind, rougher the sea, till a gale was flying toward 
and around them, its strong wings widespread, its 
breath deadly, with never a rift in the vaporous mass 
that was pressing as a wall closer and closer to crush 
and suck them in. The Sea Gull seemed to float in 
space. Still darker grew the fog, and more sullen the 
thunder of the waves against the cliffs as she sped 
before the furious blast of the gale. Was the storm 
lashing them on toward the pitiless rocks, or would the 
whirling waves engulf them? 

The Sea Gull’s passengers were silent. All eye 
and ear, Dick Tenby stood motionless as stone, with 
one aim — to save the yacht and those upon her. 

Monsieur de Rosambert, calm and collected, had 
spoken but once to his sister and Hester ; but those 


144 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


few words, reenforced by his own sincere composure, 
stilled all expression of nervous fear. 

“ The gale and fog can do naught against the will 
of God, ‘ whose we are, whom also we serve.’ ” 

Wind and wave challenged this tranquil trust with 
the defiant voice of thunder. Denser grew the fog, 
colder the air. 

“Saved! By God’s help — saved!” was the sud- 
den shout of Tenby when the Sea Gull was swept 
as by a miraculous power through the reefs into 
Schooner Head Cove, while the wild and savage din 
of sea and gale roared harmlessly behind her. 

Hester and Gudule burst into tears. Dick Tenby 
drew off his cap as Monsieur de Rosambert rose, 
saying, — 

“ Let us return thanks to Him who has delivered 
us.” 

Suddenly as the wind had risen, so suddenly it 
veered and lulled. Spear-thrusts of yellow light 
parted and dissolved the fog, while diffusing their own 
radiant color. Little by little the ghostly gray be- 
came a filmy, golden gauze, floating aloft that the 
perfect blue of the summer sky might beam un- 
checked on snowy surf and tossing wave fast calming 
after the wild sweep of that wide-winged gale. 

In another hour the Sea Gull had floated into Bar 
Harbor. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MADAME DE CHAVIGNI 


N the sky there were now only dim reflections of 



J- the glorious sunset that had been. The moon 
had risen and Bar Harbor and the sea smiled in the 
silvery transfiguration. Hester was with Madame de 
Chavigni. But long after Hester was refreshed and 
rested from the excitement of her encounter with the 
fog and gale, the Creole lady continued to suffer from 
the anxiety that had shaken her self-control. Unable 
to converse on ordinary topics, she sat by Hester, 
gazing on her as one reclaimed from deadly peril. 

“O Hester ! Hester ! if that yacht had been dashed 
and broken against the cliffs ; or if the sea had en- 
gulfed her ! My dear child, I — Hester, I must 
confide in you to-night. I have long been aware that 
you felt for me ; and I have thirsted for your sym- 
pathy. May I tell you the story of my life?” 

Hester’s response was to clasp tenderly the trem- 
bling hand which Madame de Chavigni had rested on 
her knee. 

“You know my home is in New Orleans, where 
the summers are tropically warm. To pass three or 
four months elsewhere is an annual necessity. By a 
chance — shall I call it a chance? — some friends 
were going to one of the charming outlying islands in 
the Gulf of Mexico — Last Island. That decided our 


145 


146 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


summer’s plan. My dear husband, my child, and I 
departed thither, accompanied by Judith and other 
servants. We anticipated so much in delightful inter- 
course with our friends ; but above and beyond all, 
in being together in so exquisite a spot.” 

Madame de Chavigni was silent for many seconds. 

“Beautiful was the myrtle-shaded village on the 
western end of the island ; more beautiful the sea 
and sky. The large hotel and its many cottages were 
filled with seekers after pure and bracing air — the 
most refined and cultured of our southern people. 
Every taste was gratified at Last Island ; there were 
riding, driving and yachting excursions, fishing and 
hunting parties for recreation during the day, and 
music and other diversions for the evening. The days 
were too short, the moonlight nights too lovely for 
repose. Day succeeded day of most perfect weather 
and as perfect happiness. How few can say they are 
happy, Hester ! The most one dare affirm is : ‘ I am 
not unhappy.’ 

“July passed into August. The sky was cloudless, 
the sea tranquil, save for one phenomenon — the stir- 
ring of that quiet gulf with sudden motion one noon 
and then an oncoming billow that thundered as it broke 
upon the beach, succeeded by another and another till 
the sea was tumultuous — and yet no wind ! At sun- 
set a rosy cloud bridge spanned the sky, whose perfect 
arch deepened in tint with the dying day. Then from 
the northeast came the wind, which remained with us 
from that hour, while the waves rolled higher and 
higher and the moan of the breaking surf answered 


MADA3IE 1)E (JHAVIGl^L 


147 


the cry of the wind. An ever-increasing gale was 
sweeping over and around the island, the sea respond- 
ing to its urgent voice in billows awful in their might — 
thundering, crashing, booming along the sandy shore. 
No moon now by night, and the sunshine pallid and 
spectral by day. I trembled with a nameless fear — 
so changed was the aspect of sea and sky, so dread 
the atmosphere.” 

Again Madame de Chavigni paused. 

“The steamer Star, from Saint Mary’s, was due on 
the ninth of August. It was our weekly messenger, 
bearing to us friends, letters, and newspapers from 
the outer world. No one believed she could reach us, 
yet all looked for her coming to that tempest-tossed 
beach. If she failed us ! — A wild shout was heard 
— another — another! Then a voice cried, ‘I see 
her ! She is coming ! The Star is coming 1 ’ 

“The thronged hotel was all excitement, for the 
residents in cottages had hurried to us, alarmed lest 
their pretty summer homes should be leveled by the 
gale. All watched ; but only those who had dared 
descend to that roaring, surf-tossed beach could de- 
scry the Star plunging through the breakers, almost 
hidden by thick, snowy spray. Oh, the hoarse tri- 
umphant cheers of the men, and the tears and laughter 
of the women when the Star, still rolling unsteadily, 
dropped her anchor in the foaming bayou in sight of 
our hotel 1 Never can I forget the roaring of that 
wind, the leaping of the spray — the crashing billows 
trying to tear Last Island from the sea ! No gang- 
plank from the steamer could be lowered. Fiercer, 


148 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


darker grew the gale. A voice shouted that the cot- 
tages were tottering — moving in the vast and angry 
flood that was already sweeping half across the island ! 
All the anchors of the Star were dropped to hold her 
in her place, yet she still dragged. We heard another 
shout as those watching saw the Star’s stack, pilot- 
house, and cabins cut away and instantly lost in the 
bellowing sea ! ‘ Only the hull remains — only the 

hull of the Star remains ! ’ cried another voice. I 
could see her panting on, little by little, swaying and 
rocking nearer our hotel, which still withstood the 
searching, howling blast. My husband and child were 
with me in our rooms ; Judith, Mimi, and Casper in 
an anteroom, mute and terrified.” 

Madame de Chavigni again was silent. 

“ In a rift between the awful blasts of the gale we 
heard music in the hotel’s great hall — the music of 
the violins for the evening dance. I clasped my baby 
more closely and my husband’s arm encircled me more 
tenderly. We seemed more than ever alone, with 
hearts too heavy, too awe-struck to listen to that 
music. But the dance went on and the wind and 
the sea raved and thundered, till in a brief lull we 
heard a sudden scream and the violins were dumb. 
Casper rushed to us trembling, gasping that the 
sea had risen so high that the ballroom floor was 
flooded ! As he spoke a wild, unearthly shriek rent 
the air — a shriek from no human voice. It was 
the first cry of the hurricane, accompanied by the 
thunderous boom of monstrous billow following bil- 
low, till we felt the huge hotel waver and shiver 


MADAME BE CRAViaNI. 


149 


aud crash in the deadly enfolding grasp of wind 
and sea ! ” 

Madame de Chavigni paused in her narration. 

“Oh, the terrible cries! the screams for help! the 
wailing of those who sought to save their dearest and 
found them not in the darkness and the flood ! 

“ With dawn the wind sank. Then came the 
wreckers — the robbers of the dying and the dead. 
They fled away with their stolen treasures when the 
relief boat came from Saint Mary’s. The • reclaimed 
dead were tenderly coffined and the few living res- 
cued by the superhuman efforts of the captain of 
the Star and borne back to their desolate homes. 
But those who had vanished to be seen here no more 
— for whom was no burial save in the sea ! mine were 
among those — 

“And I — a widow, childless — saved for — what?” 

The mellow voice of the narrator had become lower 
and lower, the eyes more dim, the cheeks more deathly 
pale, the hands more cold, and the frame more trem- 
ulous. 

Hester, with an irresistible impulse and a heart 
broken with sympathy and love for this beautiful 
sorrow-stricken woman, clasped her in her arms. 

Constance de Chavigni shivered, then burst into a 
passion of sobbing, leaning her head on Hester’s 
breast as she concluded her woeful tale. 

All words were intrusive ; silent sympathy was all 
Hester could offer. 

The moments passed, Madame de Chavigni still 
leaning on the girl, clinging to her as to one of the 


150 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


very few to whom she had ever been able to reveal her 
history. Miss Conway had gathered it imperfectly ; 
and to Judith, who had shared her peril, she was still 
unable to refer to that awful night and morning when 
all joy vanished from her life. 

“ Hester, if I could only keep you always ! Could 
you — would you come to me ? ” 

“ Ah, if I might ! But there is my brother.” 
“Think of my loneliness. You would be all my 
earthly sunshine, Hester. Since my two were torn 
from me my heart has clung to no one as it does to 
you. Dear Hester, think of it, for my sake. You 
would care to be with me?” 

“More than I can express,” cried the girl softly, 
her whole nature melting over this wrecked life which 
she longed to warm and brighten by her love and 
devotion. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE STORY OF THE GORSE 



OUNT DESERT seemed an enchanted land to 


-LVJL Olga Viazemski as she daily walked, drove, 
or rowed, learning more perfectly to appreciate its 
marvelous beauties. 

Returning to Bayview from a sail on the Sea Gull 
with Hester and Gudule, she discovered the reason why 
her beloved Miss Nelly had refused to share her enjoy- 
ment, albeit so earnestly urged by Monsieur de Ro- 
sambert and Jack Bolton. She had remained at home 
to copy an intricate embroidery pattern for her cousin 
Meta. Olga found her in the garden, Meta bending 
over her shoulder. 

“That’s a facsimile, Nelly!” she was exclaiming 
approvingly, the frown of discontent over her own 
work vanishing as she surveyed her cousin’s. 

Olga caught a spray near and angrily stripped it of its 
foliage. What right had Miss Meta to burden her un- 
selfish friend with a task so tedious and difficult? Nelly 
had put aside not only the sail but an interesting book 
to extricate Meta from her dilemma. Half an hour 
passed, then another and another ; still Meta evinced no 
sign of relieving her from the irksome occupation. How 
could Nelly seem so interested? how could she cheer- 
fully yield her own plans? how could she endure Meta’s 
selfishness ? Olga grew more and more indignant. 


151 


152 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Miss Nelly, where is your book?” 

“ What book?” asked Meta. 

“ The one she was reading when you brought that 
pattern. Dear Miss Nelly, are you not very, very 
tired?” she asked, rising and approaching the low 
seat in the arbor where her patient friend was chained 
to gratify the selfish whim of another. 

“ Not very. Is not this a pretty pattern ? ” uncover- 
ing it for Olga to see the very delicate tracery of stem 
and leaf. 

“ It ’s a horrid thing ! I can’t endure it ! ” 

Meta hummed an air and sat down under a tree. 

“Miss Nelly is very fond of reading!” presently 
said Olga with intense emphasis. 

“Is she?” 

“ Don’t you know she is? I — Oh, I can’t under- 
stand how you can permit her to copy that hard, hard 
pattern for you ! She is tired out — all out ! ” running 
over to Helen and snatching the pencil from her hand. 

Meta sprang up then, and Helen bade Olga restore 
what she had taken. 

“No, no! There, Miss Meta; take it!” tossing 
the pencil on the grass. 

“You audacious infant!” cried Meta, provoked 
and longing to administer correction. “ Come, trot 
away ! Run out on the bluff and count the white 
sails. Helen is helping me.” 

“ She is not helping ; she is doing all the work, while 
you sing a song and don’t care, and sit under a tree.” 

Helen laid her hand on Olga’s shoulder, murmuring 
a few gentle words in her ear. 


THE STOBT OF THE GOBSE, 


163 


“No! If I go, you’ll never come, Miss Nelly!” 

“If you don’t run away, Olga, I’ll tie Helen here 
all the afternoon,” said Meta, half laughing, but quite 
angry. 

“ To copy your big, ugly pattern?” 

It was the work of an instant, but it was fatal. 
The costly, borrowed sheet was snatched from beneath 
Nelly’s hand and torn into a dozen fragments. Meta 
in one bound had reached Olga, but too late. Pale 
and furious, she dashed her aside and the child fell 
heavily against a tree. 

“O Meta! Meta!” cried Nelly, rushing to the 
prostrate little form that lay so motionless. 

There was a quiver about the mouth and the eyelids 
flickered and again Olga lay still as death. 

“ I was not to blame, Helen ! ” cried Meta, her 
wrath subsiding; “ she was quite unbearable! Have 
I really hurt her ? ” bending down to gaze at the lovely 
little face. 

Helen was studying it with fast-falling tears. “ Run 
into the cottage for Marfa. We will carry her in, 
Meta.” 

“I’ll send at once for Dr. Duncan. Is it her 
head that is hurt?” and Meta, now pale from anxiety 
and remorse, took one more glance and then sped 
away. 

It was a play ! Olga, only a little bruised, could 
with difficulty refrain from opening her eyes and smil- 
ing away her beloved Miss Nelly’s terror. If she did 
so. Miss Meta would not suffer punishment for her 
wicked conduct of that afternoon ; and to punish her 


154 


AT MOUNT DESERT 


was Olga’s intention. Still, Miss Nelly must not be 
left in such a painful anxiety. The blue eyes slowly 
unclosed and she gazed up into the sweet face down 
which tears were dropping. 

“Don’t! don’t!” gasped Olga. “Are you crying 
for me? Will you promise not to tell?” 

“Yes.” 

“ I am not much hurt ! ” 

‘ ‘ Really ? 

“Yes, really. Miss Meta is strong, isn’t she? 
My arm is lame and my shoulder; but — Oh, here 
she comes ! Remember you promised not to tell.” 

“ But I cannot act an untruth. Since you can rise, 
Olga, do so.” 

Olga lay mute, her eyelids closed, her whole form 
nerveless. 

Helen whispered in her ear — “ For my sake ! ” 

“Don’t!” 

“ Yes ; for my sake and if you love me.” 

“ If I love you ! ” sitting up with a jerk. 

Then Helen rose and so did Olga. Meta, much 
relieved to see her standing, was about to say so ; 
but Olga turned away her head as if the sight of her 
were intolerable. 

“ I do not need you, Marfa,” said Nelly to the 
Russian maid, who, pale and apprehensive, was ap- 
proaching with a bottle of liniment and some linen 
bandages. 

“Are you in much pain, Olga?” asked Meta pen- 
itently. 

“I might have died!” was the only response 


THE STOBY OF THE GOBSE. 155 

as she leaned on Nelly’s arm and refused to look at 
Meta, who ran back to collect her books and papers. 

The sight of the tree against which Olga had fallen 
was now terrifying and hateful to Meta. As she 
thought of her absorption of her cousin’s morning, 
a new light illumined her own act. It was unusual 
for Meta to feel dissatisfied with self — new and 
displeasing. 

In Mrs. Bolton’s cheerful dressing room Olga lay 
that summer evening, a huge pillow at her back and 
an immense Noah’s ark on the table at her side. 

“ What beasts those are ! and what funny little men 
and women ! ” 

The ark had been Jack’s gift. Coming in and see- 
ing the child lying on the sofa, he had galloped fast 
into Bar Harbor to procure her some new amusement. 
The handsome stores on Main Street, filled with every 
attractive toy Boston or New York could furnish, were 
always an entertainment for Olga when Marfa escorted 
her for her morning walk ; but the Noah’s ark she 
had not yet possessed, that being a fresh importation 
of the previous day. 

Her arm and shoulder were still stiff and swollen 
and it was with much difficulty that Olga lifted the 
inhabitants of the ark to her knee. 

Meta, writing a letter, glanced toward her frequently, 
hoping for some smile or word of forgiveness, but she 
received neither : though w^hen her head was turned 
aside Olga smothered a laugh in the sofa pillow. It 
was for Miss Nelly’s sake she was thus obdurate. She 


156 


AT 310 UNT DESEMT. 


had noticed for a long time that Meta imposed on her 
cousin’s unselfish nature. When she had returned to 
Russia and could no longer shield her dear friend, 
how Miss Meta would annoy and oppress that too no- 
ble disposition ! It only remained, therefore, that she 
should teach Miss Meta a few necessary truths. 

Meta being called away by Mrs. Bolton, Olga was 
momentarily alone with Helen. That beloved friend, 
kneeling down by the sofa and wrapping her arms 
around the child, gave most exquisite happiness to the 
little one she tenderly cradled. Nelly’s sweet eyes 
were laden with love ; but there was also a question 
hidden in them. 

Olga, half laughing, read it. “Is it ‘ my neigh- 
bor’ ? ” she asked. 

Nelly’s lips curved into a smile. 

“ I don’t like her ! ” 

“ You ought to.” 

“Why?” 

“ Don’t you know, Olga? ” 

“ Because Miss Meta is your cousin?” 

“ There is a better reason.” 

“If you will sing ‘There is a green hill far away,’ 
perhaps ” — 

“ You will confess to yourself the reason?” 

Olga nodded. 

Then Nelly sang. 

“ I know the reason,” answered Olga at the conclu- 
sion of the first verse. “ I am sorry ; but I don’t yet 
wish to tell Miss Meta I am sorry. She ’ll forget too 
soon ! Can’t I buy her another pattern ? I could 


THE STOBY OF THE GOBSE. 


157 


never earn roubles for Miss Meta as I could for my 
reiil neighbor ! I like Jack. I did not so much 
mind learning all those long, long verses for him. If 
I could draw the pattern ! If it were only horses, 
houses, or dogs ! ” laughing merrily. 

“ Then you will like to see me helping Meta. I 
have drawn much longer than she has.” 

“ If she does n’t tire you.” 

“ She will not.” 

“ Here comes Miss Meta.” 

Meta entered to catch the smiling welcome of 
Olga’s blue eyes ; but as she approached the sofa 
the little Russian 'turned her head away. Had Miss 
Meta expected she could, or would, kiss her? There 
was one little corner in Olga’s heart yet hard and 
unforgiving to Meta. Some voice whispered it in 
her ear and Olga seemed startled. No real forgive- 
ness after all ! 

In Helen’s eyes she read the same whisper. 

“ Read me something. Miss Nelly ! ” 

Olga did not wish to think any more. 

Nelly paused some seconds and then said: “I’ll 
tell you what was once told to me — ‘ The Story of 
the Gorse.’ ” 

“ What is ‘ gorse’ ? ” 

“ A thick, prickly, evergreen shrub, that bears 
pretty golden flowers all winter.” 

“ In the snow? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Tell me all about it.” 


158 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


THE STORY OF THE GORSE. 

The brownies were supposed in the old times to be 
a busy, elfin folk who loved our race and were always 
doing men some kindness. They knew that they loved 
each other and often an earnest, loving kiss proved it. 
But looking out on the world they saw that the feeling 
of good and tender will they bore each brownie was 
not cherished as it should have been among mankind, 
for the happiness of the race to whom they ministered. 
So they sent out their message on the breath of the 
gorse, knowing if the shrub ceased blooming men would 
forget to give the token of heart-warmth that meant 
so much to old and young. 

They planted gorse bushes up and down all over 
the mountains and covered the hills with the soft 
golden bloom. They set many of their number to keep 
constant watch over the flowers, and to water them 
carefully, so as to be always sure of having a little 
thorny amber spray of blossom somewhere. This was 
hard work now and then in winter ; but the elves 
were so quick and watchful that the catastrophe they 
dreaded had never yet taken place — the forgetfulness 
to bestow and receive the loving kiss of peace and 
good will, because the golden gorse was no longer 
blooming. 

However, there came at last one very hard, very 
snowy winter. Oh, how busy the brownies were ! 
Besides having to look after the snowflakes and keep 
the robins warm and comfort the poor little children 
who had no fires, they had all this trouble with the 


THE STOBY OF THE GOESE. 


159 


gorse. And it did n’t like the snow at all. When it 
put forth its little yellow buds and saw the snow, it 
wanted to go to sleep like the other flowers. The 
brownies had to coax it to make it come out at all. 
Even then it grumbled and tried to prick the poor little 
elves, saying that a kiss of good will was a foolish cus- 
tom and it would not encourage it ! At last the gorse 
became so cross and unmanageable that every bit of 
it went to sleep in spite of the brownies, except one 
unselfish little spray somewhere up in the north of 
Scotland. This little spray was so afraid that there 
would be no gorse to bear to the world the loving, 
tender message of the elves that it would go on bloom- 
ing as long as it could. 

But it could not bloom forever ; and the brownies 
knew it. How careful they were of that one little 
spray ! How anxiously they watched the yellow buds 
opening out from their wee brown sheaths ! How 
tenderly they guarded them from the rough wind and 
coaxed down to them the wintry sunshine ! And what 
excursions they made over the moors to find just one 
more little sprig that should bloom before those gal- 
lant yellow flowers had faded away ! But it was all 
in vain. The poor, good little spray could not help 
fading, though it tried hard to live. 

The rest of the gorse was crosser than ever and 
thrust out its prickles when the brownies tried to 
reason with it and refused to let the tiniest peep of 
amber shine among its thorny green. At last all the 
tender kisses of the whole world were depending upon 
one yellow bud of gorse away up in Scotland ! 


160 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


It was the last bud of the dying spray. On 
Christmas Eve, a great snowstorm came whirling over 
the moors and tossed the little spray upon its windy 
bos.om, tearing away the last bud from its mother- 
stem, sweeping it off across the hill tops — a tiny, 
golden flake of snow. 

When Christmas morning dawned clear and white 
. after the storm, the gorse was out of bloom and all 
the children had forgotten how to kiss one another. 

Effle and Ronald had gone to bed without kissing 
each other. Never had the little sister and brother 
forgotten it before. When they awakened Christmas 
morning, their hearts were heavy and sad. Effle 
could not recall what was the matter. She wanted 
Ronald to forgive her for being cioss on Christmas 
Eve, and she wanted him to — what was\i she wanted 
him to do? She was sure something was needed to 
show that they were friends again ! S.o she tumbled 
out of her little white cot and pattered across the 
landing to the room where Ronald slept. He sat up 
in bed when he heard her coming and held out his 
arms, and she tumbled right into them and laid her 
cheeks against his and held him close, and when they 
had both whispered, “ I ’m sorry I quarreled!” they 
cuddled up together like two roses on one stalk. But 
still there was something lacking and Effle sat up and 
began to wonder about it. 

“ Ronnie, what do we do when we forgive one 
another ? ” 

Ronald shook his head. “I can’t think,” he 


THE STOBY OF THE GOBSE. 


161 


murmured sorrowfully. “I know we don’t seem to 
have forgiven each other properly.” 

“ Suppose we shake hands?” said Effie. 

“Very well,” answered Ronald. So they shook 
hands in a very solemn, depressed fashion and then 
sat looking at each other like a couple of very wise 
and very perplexed little owls. 

Nurse came in to wash and dress the children. 
When all was completed, she gazed at them wondering 
what else there was to do — something she always 
gave them before they ran away ; but what that sweet 
something was, neither she nor they could remember. 

Breakfast seemed unnatural that Christmas morn- 
ing. Their mamma smiled sweetly and their gifts 
were many and beautiful — but she had forgotten 
something they always before had received and given 
on Christmas morning. 

What that household missed, all the households 
missed ; but they could not tell what it was. So 
they wondered. 

What the world would have done that Christmas, 
or how uncomfortable it would have been, I cannot tell 
you, had it not been for a little ragged girl who lived 
among the big mills in Lancashire. In the twilight of 
Christmas Eve she went off on the snowy moors looking 
for some golden gorse to make a wreath to celebrate 
the dear Christ-child’s birthday. She would have liked 
some of the bright green holly laden with scarlet berries 
which she had seen carried into the master’s house, but 
no one remembered to give her a spray. 

Humming over her sweet new Christmas carol. 


162 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


she bravely plodded off to the moorlands and filled 
her pinafore with the little prickly green boughs of 
the gorse, that bore not one yellow bud for Christmas ! 
Her fingers were torn aud bleeding from their sharp 
prickles, but she worked bravely on — she must have 
a garland of something green for Christmas day. 

The brownies watched her and heard her sing 
softly : — 

Peace on earth, good will to men! 

and were sure that somehow, they could not tell how, 
the trouble in the world would be set right. 

Sitting down on the fioor near the fire that Christmas 
Eve after she returned from the moor, and singing all 
the time, the little girl wove her gorse into a prickly 
wreath and then hung it over the chimney corner, 
gazing at it very thoughtfully for a minute or two. It 
reminded her of another crown — one of thorns — of 
which her teacher had spoken so earnestly the last 
Sunday. Then remembering that this was the time 
of Christmas joy because of Jesus’ coming to earth to 
help and redeem mankind, she began once more to 
sing softly to herself : — 

Peace on earth, good will to men! 

The little mill girl slept soundly, for she had 
taken a long, long walk across the moor. It was a 
bitterly cold night and the gorse on the hillside had 
shut itself up tighter than ever. But the garland 
hanging over the chimney corner began to grow warm. 
It was near the fire and the cottage walls shut out the 
cutting wind. Warmer and warmer it grew and the 


THE STOBY OF THE G0B8E. 


163 


little frozen flakes of snow that had hidden them- 
selves among the prickles turned into a warm soft 
shower like summer rain. 

The brownies came to see how it was getting on, 
and when they beheld what was happening they sent 
in haste for all their companions. Very soon the 
kitchen was full of the elves all whispering words of 
tender encouragement to the gorse garland — for with 
the warmth and coziness, and the moisture lying about 
it, the little wreath was actually beginning to bloom ! 
It could n’t help it ; it was so warm and comfortable 
in the chimney corner that bud after bud burst its 
brown sheath to know the reason of the change in the 
atmosphere. When once the buds felt the delicious 
warmth, they had no wish to go to sleep again, but 
bloomed larger and sweeter and yellower every mo- 
ment. Listening to the brownies’ softly sung Christ- 
mas carol, the dawn came smiling through the windows 
and fell on what seemed to be a great golden crown 
hanging on the wall ; while all the elves sat in a ring 
underneath and wept tears of joy. 

The little mill girl wakened too, and rose to look 
at her Christmas garland. When she saw the sweet 
golden crown she stood quite still. A far-away look 
came into her eyes as she stood on tiptoe to inhale the 
fragrance of the amber blossoms. Away went the 
elves, joyfully bearing the message that the gorse was 
blooming again ! 

Peace and good will ! 

they sang. The world believed them and suddenly 
remembered what it had forgotten. Friends and 


164 


AT MOUNT DESEBT 


children gave one another the Christmas kiss of love 
and peace. 

“A merry Christmas!” cried Ronald to EflSe with 
a hearty hug. 

“ A merry Christmas!” echoed nurse, stooping to 
embrace her babies. 

“A merry Christmas, my darlings !” cried mamma, 
kissing each sweet face. 

The cloud had gone and Christmas day was Christ- 
mas day at last. 

“ Did the gorse go on blooming after that? ” asked 
Olga. 

“ Yes ; ever afterward, although never more sweetly 
than the little mill girl’s garland bloomed on that 
Christmas day of which I have told you.” 

“ If I don’t now ” — Olga paused with a smile, 
“ you ’ll think the story of the gorse is nothing to 
me?” 

“ I shall be sorry to think it has ceased blooming,” 
answered Nelly. 

Meta again returned to the room. Olga extended 
her hand. “May I give you a kiss of ‘peace and 
good will’? And will you forgive me — quite for- 
give me?” 

“ Oh, indeed I will ! ” 

“ And the borrowed pattern” — 

“ I have already sent for another.” 

“ For which I will and must pay.” 

“ No, no ! ” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” 


THE STOBY OF THE GOBSE. 


166 


“ It is right Olga should, Meta.” 

“Very well, then ; though I see no necessity.” 

“ Now the room is full of gorse ! ” cried Olga. 

“ How sweetly it smells ! ” 

“ Gorse? I don’t see any,” said Meta. 

“You carry a big bunch in your hand ! Ask Miss 
Nelly to tell you the pretty story.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


IN DUCK BROOK GLEN. 

S O near Bar Harbor ! It seems as if we must be 
far, far away ! ” exclaimed Gudule de Rosam- 
bert, as she and her friends entered the leafy glen 
where Duck Brook comes leaping and laughing down 
from Eagle Lake. Thence it speeds away from the 
mountains and over the rocks to sparkle and enchant 
those who wander, or sit down in the lovely dell to 
listen to its silvery song of gay good humor. There 
wild flowers bloom and ferns bend and wave. In the 
brook’s deep pools trout dart and lurk. Mossy rocks 
line the bed of this mountain stream ; maple, birch, 
and oak delight to overarch it ; balsamic flrs, larch, 
and spruce cast their shadows and distil their fragrance 
there. The steep, narrow path bordering the beauti- 
fully wooded hillsides of the ravine is often left to 
spring from one rock to another in the center of the 
brook, just for the sweet pleasure of being nearer the 
stream in its mimic waterfalls and snowy eddyings 
round a slippery bowlder. On the hillsides blackberry 
vines, lady’s slippers, and pitcher plants gaze down on 
the flashing stream that has stolen away under their 
green clumps of foliage to fill the middle of that 
pretty glen with its song and laughter. It is an 
enchanting bit of woodland ; and its nearness to the 
sea enhances its sylvan beauty and tranquillity. 


m DUCK BROOK GLEN, 


167 


Olga, quite recovered, was holding a balancing pole, 
emulating Jack and Helen, who were ascending the 
dell in the center of the brook, picking their way over 
the rocks and steadying themselves in a manner mar- 
velous to the blue eyes of the little Russian. What 
Nelly attempted she must attempt ; and she too must 
win the praise of her “ neighbor.” 

Madame de Chavigni came on more slowly along 
the hillside path with Miss Conway and Mrs. Bolton. 
Meta, Gudule, Hester, and Monsieur de Rosambert 
strolled on just before them. Where the brook 
widened into its first deep pool they sat down. Some 
birches on either side gently bent their boughs across 
and dropped their dickering shadows. How still, how 
sweet, how ineffably lovely was the morning, the 
blue sky bending above them and the clear sunlight 
resting on the glen’s fresh verdure ! 

Hester had risen and leaned against a birch tree 
while gazing up the leafy glen and smiling with many 
pleasant thoughts ; then turned to see that Madame 
(le Chavigni had a comfortable seat and was rewarded 
by a grateful glance. 

Olga was watching Nelly, who grew dearer and 
dearer each day. The child had decided that her father 
must carry her to their Russian home to remain for- 
ever and aye ! If she refused, Olga meant to re- 
fuse to leave America ; and yet, how could she say 
she would never again see beautiful Moscow and 
Saint Petersburg ? Monsieur de Rosambert was near 
her. 

“ Miss Patty told me of the children in your French 


168 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


Home, monsieur. Do you sometimes tell them some- 
thing pretty ? ” 

The look and tone conveyed Olga’s desire, though 
she made no request. 

“ On the last visit I paid before sailing for America, 
they gathered around me in farewell and — do you 
wish to hear what I told them ? ” 

“ So much ; if ” — 

“It will give me pleasure,” Henri de Rosambert 
answered, with so cordial a smile that Olga ventured 
to ask if all their friends might not hear what the 
little children in France had heard. So the party 
grouped themselves around her and she leaned back 
against a spreading beech wonderfully content. 

It was often questioned why the subjects of a 
great, all-powerful King should suffer all manner of 
sickness, sorrow, and want, when he might by one 
word remove them into a glorious country where the 
sun ever shines in perpetual spring, and where suffer- 
ing is unknown. But there was held before them the 
hope of attaining that beautiful land which had been 
forfeited by them all. Each of his people was ap- 
pointed to test his loyalty, courage, and love of the 
things which he had commanded by running a race 
between the first and the final stroke of a clock. 
Each racer ran against time. 

When I asked if it were difficult, an old man re- 
sponded that it was not easy, because most of those 
who ran forgot to think only of the goal, and were often 
allured to pause and waste time on their way. But 


m DUCK EBOOK OLEN, 


169 


the good, wise, and most loving King had so ordered 
that no one was expected to attempt what was impos- 
sible ; every one might win the glorious country and 
the palace of the King if he only would ! And he 
had solemnly promised that those who relied on the 
Prince, his Son, for strength and loyalty should win. 

But alas ! so many scarcely troubled themselves to 
run the race that had been set before them ! Some 
began with energy and almost immediately fell away ; 
some sat down to rest so often that they gave them- 
selves no chance to reach the palace before the final, 
solemn stroke of the clock ; some fell asleep and never 
roused till the sound of the bell fell on their ear. 

On the occasion of which I wish to tell you, four 
children had begun their race at the same time. They 
were Cyril and Paulinus, Monica and Hilda. 

Cyril was all life and fervency. His eye was 
bright ; he had the energetic air of a young, fleet 
greyhound. Paulinus was clumsy and stout, and 
somewhat stupid. He did not care to run ; he did not 
know why the necessity was laid on him to attempt 
the mysterious race. Monica resembled Cyril — all 
life and gayety ; but Hilda, I noticed, was a poor 
timid little one who was afraid of herself and the 
race and of every one around her. She was sadly 
wishing for a word of encouragement and consola- 
tion. Suddenly a glorious spirit stood by each of 
the children to accompany them on their race ; to 
cheer them and remove difficulties, if they were only 
in earnest to obey the loving commands of their King 
and Prince. 


170 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


“ Has each of these children the same number of 
hours in which to perform their race?” I asked. 

“By no means. Each has his own clock. When 
that strikes, that one, whoever he or she may be, can 
run no longer.” 

I looked with deep interest on the four who started 
on their race at the same moment. Cyril ran so 
well, so uprightly, that in a few seconds he had dis- 
tanced the others. The old man did not seem so 
enraptured as I hoped. The brilliant beginning ap- 
peared to him no evidence that Cyril would continue 
as he had begun. 

Paulinus seemed to run well ; but his pace was slow. 
Speed would not win the prize for him. 

Monica glided along swiftly, when she did not 
pause to pursue a butterfly or gather flowers by the 
way. “Time enough — time enough,” I heard her 
murmur when her guardian angel gently reproved her. 

Poor little diffident Hilda was as awkward in run- 
ning her race as she was in everything else she had 
attempted ; but there was an earnestness in the child’s 
efforts, a desire to do her very best, to obey abso- 
lutely the sweet and holy commands of her King, that 
touched me deeply. Her one thought evidently was 
to run the race set before her with patient determina- 
tion, looking unto the Prince for grace and strength to 
persevere. 

The ground on which Cyril had been running was 
soft turf. While he was on that he excelled the 
others. But presently he entered a ravine whose sides 
glittered with precious stones. Great cubes of crys- 


IN DUCK EBOOK GLEN. 


171 


tal slioue gloriously in the sun ; rubies as crimson as 
the snowy clouds under the setting sun ; emeralds 
of as lovely a green as the young spring shoots ; 
amethysts, the hue of the Michaelmas daisies ; opals, 
burning with all the rainbow colors ; and sapphires 
gleaming in the ravine as though a bit of the azure 
sky had rested on its rocky sides. Cyril was en- 
chanted. I heard his guardian angel murmur, “ What 
shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, 
and lose his own soul?” Then Cyril ran on, to pause 
suddenly and knock off one gem after another, filling 
his pouch with their shining beauty. 

“ Did I not tell you,” said the old man, who was 
compassionately regarding the boy, “that it is not 
those who start so bravely on their race of whom we 
are disposed to feel most secure ? That poor Cyril is 
wasting his time and so weighting himself down that 
soon you will behold him lagging behind, unable to run 
with interest or energy. Besides, before he can enter 
the King’s palace he must throw those jewels away. 
They are only the shadows of the gems he will receive 
there, if he is faithful here.” 

The angel had seized the hand of Cyril and set 
him on his way once more. He fled along the right 
path, but so encumbered was he with the precious 
stones that he suffered much in running the race to 
which he was pledged ; yet it never occurred to him 
to cast aside the jewels which he so loved but which 
were so sorely impeding his progress. 

Suddenly his eye was caught by an immense ruby 
burning just overhead. “Oh, I must and will have 


172 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


that gem ! ” he cried, trying to wrench it from the rock. 
But his strength was insufficient and a stone was seized, 
with which I left him knocking and chipping the rock 
above the jewel, while his angel watched with a pained, 
sorrowful face. 

I turned to find Paulinus slowly advancing over 
a dull, wearisome path. The sky was cloudy, the air 
sultry. Paulinus suffered from the heat. Presently 
he rested by the roadside and sank back overcome, 
discouraged, and so weary that he fell asleep, even 
while his angel was seeking to cheer and rouse him. 
Ferns pillowed his tired head and formed his couch. 
So comfortable were they after the tediousness of the 
road that though he sought once to rouse and obey 
the exhortation of his angel, resolution deserted him 
and he extended himself for more slumber, indifferent 
to the moments gliding by and the clock that might 
strike and suddenly end his probation forever and 
ever. 

Monica was speeding along over pleasant, sunlit 
fields. The air was sweet with wild roses and the 
birds were singing for joy. Her girdle was adorned 
with fiowers, her hands were full, and often she 
paused to gather more roses and to chase the pale 
amber butterflies, forgetful that her clock might strike 
and the goal be yet unwon. Her angel watched her 
most anxiously. 

Then I looked for faithful Hilda. Whereas Mon- 
ica had the summer season in which to run her race, 
Hilda had only the winter. Large tears were fall- 
ing down her cheeks ; her face was sad and her heart 


IN DUCK BBOOK GLEN, 


173 


distressed ; but her purpose never faltered. If the 
loving King had thought it best that her race should be 
run in that inclement season, it was not for her to 
murmur. A steep hill rose before her deeply covered 
with snow. Overhead were pines in whose boughs 
the wind was moaning. No blue sky could be seen. 
Tlie sun seemed to have forgotten how to shine. The 
child often plunged up to her knees in the snowdrifts, 
and I saw her shiver with the cold. Her guardian 
angel tenderly held her hand and threw his kind arm 
around her when the path was most difficult. Then I 
saw him present her with what seemed to me a cruel 
gift — a staff cut from a sharp thorn bush, jagged all 
over with spikes and briers, and bade her lean on that. 
Hilda obeyed trustingly ; but soon I saw her poor little 
hand was torn and bleeding. Yet, wonderful to say, 
the more it bled the more courage and strength seemed 
to uplift Hilda. Her tears ceased to fall and presently 
she asked cheerfully : — 

“ Do you think the worst is over?” 

“ I cannot tell, dear child : that alone is known 
to your King. But this I know, Hilda : when the 
Prince was in this country he went over this same 
path, but the storm was worse ; oh, so much wilder, 
and the snow so much deeper and the staff on which 
he leaned so much sharper ! ” 

“ I love to hear of the holy Prince. Tell me more 
of him.” 

Though the storm increased, the face of little Hilda 
beamed more radiantly as she hearkened to the history 
of her King’s only Son, who for love of her and the 


174 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


human race bore all the sufferings appointed him for 
their salvation, and came forth a glorious conqueror 
over all their foes. 

Then I heard Hilda singing the Gloria in excelsis. 
Not the raving of the wind nor the increasing storm 
could drown the sweet voice or prevent my hearing 
the words of praise and thanksgiving that she sang ; — 

Glory be to God on high and on earth peace, good will toward 
men. We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify 
thee, we give thanks to thee, for thy great glory, O Lord God, 
heavenly King, God the Father Almighty. O Lord, the only be- 
gotten Son, Jesus Christ; O Lord God, Lamb of God, Sou of the 
Father, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon 
us. Thou that takest away the sins of the world, receive our 
prayer. Thou that sittest at the right hand of God the Father, 
have mercy upon us. 

For thou only art holy; thou only art the Lord; thou only, O 
Christ, with the Holy Ghost, art most high in the glory of God the 
Father. Amen. 

Then I turned once more to Cyril, who had at last 
left his tempting, beautiful ruby, and was advancing 
on his way. He had cast aside many of the gems 
that had so heavily weighted him, and the angel wore 
a smile of hope. 

Paulinus still slept on his fern bank. The angel 
seemed deeply distressed. I saw him gazing implor- 
ingly toward the King’s palace, and knew he was 
entreating help to awaken his sleeping charge. And 
lo ! clouds gathered in the sky, thick, black, and terri- 
ble. The thunder roared and the lightning flashed. 
Then Paulinus started from his sleep. Girding him- 
self anew he started to run his race. While the storm 


m DUCK BROOK GLEN. 


175 


raged he seemed terrified and hastened on his way 
most earnestly ; but as soon as it passed he resumed 
his slow, indifferent pace, and gazed around for another 
comfortable fern bank on which to repose. 

Monica was still advancing, but she had gathered 
so many flowers to weave into a wreath that she had 
made many missteps and had had many falls from 
not noticing the path over which she was flying. 

Hilda was far, far in advance of the rest. How 
so feeble a child had made such progress was wonder- 
ful. The old man’s eyes were full of tears as he 
gazed on her, saying, “ I doubt not Hilda’s clock will 
soon strike.” 

I heard her still conversing with the angel con- 
cerning the Prince and his devotion to those for whom 
he had laid down his own life to save them from the 
results of their own undoing. The angel spoke of his 
deep interest in those who were running the race he 
had set before them, and how he rejoiced in their 
stedfastness and sorrowed when they swerved from 
his loving commands to follow their own wills and 
obey their own wishes. 

But it was bitterly cold and the child seemed 
almost worn out. While I tenderly gazed I thought I 
saw a faint circle of light around her head. 

As she ascended the steep hill the snow ceased, 
the sun suddenly began to shine and a robin to sing. 
Spring had come and the bird was uttering its glad- 
ness. Hilda’s face was radiant, and the angel cried : — 
Happy Hilda ! there is the goal, and by His grace 
you have won.” 


176 


AT MOUNT DESEBT 


The child’s clock had struck and the Prince with 
a loving smile awaited her. 

“She is thine, O Lord and lover of souls,” said 
the angel. 

The Prince bore Hilda over the threshold of his 
palace into the glories within. Rejoicing for her, I 
turned to watch those who had started to run the race 
at the same moment with herself. Paulinus refused to 
make the effort to climb a hill — the last hill before 
the goal should be won. He sank down, the angel’s 
entreaties falling on deaf, indifferent ears. 

His clock was striking ! 

“ Oh, no ! ” he screamed, starting to his feet ; “ not 
yet — not yet! I have not half finished my journey ; 
it cannot be time ; others have so much more time ! 
Oh, save me ! save me ! ” he shrieked to the angel. 

But the angel had vanished and a cloud shrouded 
Paulinus from my sight. 

While I was trembling with fear, my old compan- 
ion told me that Monica had reached the King’s palace 
safely, but not so quickly as Hilda ; she had tarried 
too long in the race gathering fiowers and forgetting 
the commands of the King and the strength to resist 
promised by the Prince to those who besought him. 

And now there remained only Cyril. He was still 
tempted by the glittering jewels lying along his path. 
The angel entreated in vain. 

“ Cyril, your hour is ready to strike I ” 

Then the boy leaped from his crouching posture, 
threw away his pouch of costly gems, and panted up 
the hill crowned by the cross and the palace of the 


IN DUCK BROOK GLEN. 


177 


King. Oh, how he strained every nerve ! How his 
breath came thickly and sobbingly ! 

Just as he was within a few paces of the cross, his 
clock struck. But there came a darkness over the 
scene so that if the Prince were there, he was invisible. 
I heard my aged companion murmur : — 

“It is written of the Prince: ‘He is able also to 
save them to the uttermost that come unto God by 
him.^” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SOWING TO THE WIND. 

T he silence that followed Monsieur de Rosambert’s 
last sentence was broken by a sweet bird war- 
ble — a new song to all save Hester and himself. The 
strain paused on the loveliest note, to be again resumed 
and again dropped ere the melody was completed. 

“ Oh ! if one could only hear the conclusion of that 
song ! ” cried Hester, remembering the day Monsieur 
de Rosambert had found her on the shore and rowed 
her back to Bar Harbor. “Why does not the bird 
finish what he so deliciously began?” 

They all sought in vain to see the singer. He was 
so minute and his plumage so inconspicuous that amid 
the clustering foliage he easily escaped detection. He 
sang no more ; and when that special birch was un- 
watched, spread his tiny wings to fly farther up the 
glen. 

“ Were those the only notes he was fledged to 
sing?” asked Hester, who still mused on the unseen 
singer; “or is there a bird in fairyland who knows 
and will finish his fragment of a song ? ” 

“ Perhaps leaving its conclusion to the imagination 
is more of a boon than if he had trusted us with the 
completed melody,” answered Henri de Rosambert. 

“You would not say half a joy is better than the 
whole?” responded Hester. 


178 


SOWING TO THE WIND. 


179 


“Sometimes; and always when the second half 
does not repeat the primal happiness.” 

Madame de Chavigni turned eagerly toward the 
speaker, then resumed her quiet attitude to ponder, 
for the first time, whether in all her grief and loneli- 
ness there could have come a heavier loss than the 
parting and the sad memories that followed. 

“Was your story true. Monsieur de Rosambert?” 
asked Olga. “ Are we each only waiting for our clock 
to strike?” 

“ Yes, dear Olga.” 

Olga mused, while the little party of friends resumed 
their interrupted conversation. 

Hester bent down to gaze into the clear, deep pool 
at her feet, where she had caught a glimpse of a small, 
silvery fish with red spots on its pearly sides. Pretty 
trout ! How swiftly it glided away beneath a rock 
jutting over one side of the ice-cold water ! 

Jack had seen the same vision. In half a second 
a fly-rod he had carried was dangling over Duck Brook 
and in a moment more a trout — the one Hester had 
seen or another — was landed, its captor triumphantly 
waving his rod in the air. 

“ Oh ! you wicked neighbor, to catch such a pretty, 
pretty trout ! ” cried Olga, tears in her eyes and her 
cheeks burning. 

“ You ’ll eat him fast enough ! ” retorted Jack. 

“I’ll never, never eat him! And you struck his 
clock — poor, pretty trout 1 ” 

Jack, silently indignant, dropped the fish in his bas- 
ket, and prepared to ascend the glen and try in another 


180 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


and deeper pool, where he had always had great 
luck. 

“ Are we to return without you ?” asked his mother. 

“Yes, mamma; unless Olga cares to bear me com- 
pany,” with a mischievous glance in her direction. 

“I? No, indeed ! ” 

“ Did you not eat trout this morning?” 

“Yes; but I ’ll eat no more. I did not know how 
they look when happy in their own little streams. 
Good-by ! You ’re a cruel-hearted neighbor to strike 
their clock ! ” 


Bonnie ran the burnie doun, 
Wanderin’ and windin’; 

Sweetly sang the birds aboon, 

Care never mindin’; 

And the mossy rock was there, 

And the water lily fair, 

And the little trout wad sport about 
All in the sunny beam. 


sang Jack, to tease Olga. 

She turned her back and walked down the glen 
very quickly, not speaking till the party had re- 
entered their carriages, and were driving down beau- 
tiful Eden Street between rocky, tree-shaded hills and 
green meadows slanting toward the sunlit sea. 

On either hand were the picturesque villa-cottages 
of the many summer residents of Bar Harbor. The 
hotels were empty at that hour, every tourist seeking 
scenes congenial to his or her tastes. 

Hester confidently anticipated tidings from her 
brother. Nor was she disappointed. 

Basil, so long unseen, stood on the veranda of the 




SOWING TO THE WIND. 181 

hotel eagerly awaiting her arrival, impatient even of 
introductions. 

“O Basil! how glad I am to see you! But — is 
grandfather worse, that you are here?” 

“ No ; he has sent for you.” 

Then Hester was whirled away in the carriage that 
had brought her brother to Ullescliffe, the breeze seem- 
ing to whisper in her agitated ear : — 

‘ ‘ Till his clock strikes ! Till his clock strikes ! ” 

Nervous and trembling, she alighted before the 
beautiful cottage, thinking of the mother who had 
vainly longed for recognition and admission. 

“ Has she come? ” 

“ 1 am here, grandfather.” 

The sweet, low voice responding to his querulous 
question was Lucy’s. The old man winced and trem- 
bled. Hot tears rushed to his eyes as he extended an 
emaciated hand to his granddaughter. 

“Do the dead — forgive?” he asked in a hoarse 
whisper. 

There was no reply. Hester, choked by sobs, could 
not speak : and Basil, watching the emotion of the 
aged man and building on its results, had not caught 
the murmur. 

“Can the dead forgive?” was asked in the same 
hoarse whisper. 

“ Mamma bade me say, if we ever met, that she 
loved and missed you to the last.” 

There was a groan of deep misery from Mr. Har- 
court as his head sank on his breast. Suddenly he 
lifted it and turned eagerly to his granddaughter. 


182 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Let me look at you ! Open the windows wide, 
Fortescue. Kneel down where I can see you, Hester : 
here, close by my chair. So.” 

Grasping the girl’s hand, he studied her lovely 
countenance till overcome by emotion — the misery 
which had tortured him and the remorse which had 
made his life one awful agony since his daughter’s 
death. 

Suddenly his hatred of Hester’s father came sweep- 
ing over the softened mood, and he thrust out his 
hand, saying sharply, — 

“Go — go! No child of Frederick Wilmerding 
shall ever inherit one farthing from me ! ” 

Hester rose in all her youthful dignity and nobility 
of nature. 

“ We do not wish your wealth, grandfather. We 
are strong and can work — we will work, rather than 
be dependent upon your bounty.” 

“ Are you going? ” 

“ You told me to go.” 

“Yes, go I Your face and voice have tortured me 
cruelly. I ’ll see and hear you no more. Fortescue I 
shall retain : he is useful and suits me.” 

“ Then, good-by, grandfather.” 

Mr. Harcourt moved restlessly in his chair. Waving 
his hand in farewell, he sank back among his pillows, 
watching to the last the graceful figure and movements 
of the young girl he yearned to retain ever near him. 

“ Has Hester gone, Fortescue? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Why did you not accompany her to the hotel?” 


SOWING TO THE WIND. 


183 


“ I thought you might need me, sir.” 

“ Humph ! Do you pay Hester’s hotel indebtedness 
out of the remuneration I allow you for attendance?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Have you other resources?” 

“ Not worth mentioning.” 

“ Has Hester? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“Then you have wasted — and worse — not only 
your property, but hers.” 

There was no response. 

Mr. Harcourt’s smile was pitiless as he said: — 

“ You are not your mother’s son : you are your 
father’s, who cruelly stole my only child from me.” 

A silence, lasting several minutes, fell between the 
two. 

“ Bring the chessboard. I ’ll play and beat you ! ” 
said Mr. Harcourt in such a significant tone that Basil 
instantly surmised that some evil intent lurked behind 
the simple sentence. 

“ But first give me my writing case.” 

Basil complied, while inwardly resolving that the 
vow he had made on entering Bar Harbor should more 
completely rule his every thought and action. 

For half an hour Mr. Harcourt wrote feebly but 
determinedly, with many pauses, often glancing at 
his grandson, aversion and satisfaction mingling in 
the gleam of his clear blue eyes. Then the paper was 
folded, placed in an envelope, sealed, and addressed 
to his lawyers in New York, with a line above the 
address : — 


184 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


'‘^Not to be opened till six months after my death.'* 

This was again placed in a larger and stronger en- 
velope, addressed anew, and stamped ; then dispatched 
by Mr. Harcourt’s man servant to the mail. 

“Now I’ll play with you, Basil,” he said, leaning 
back in his chair exhausted. “ No ; I must rest half 
an hour. Give me my tonic, and you may walk till 
then, or do as you choose.” 

That night, between eleven and twelve, Basil quietly 
withdrew Mr. Harcourt’s keys from the pocket of his 
satin wrapper and applied the smallest of the bunch to 
a square, heavily clamped oak box always standing on 
his grandfather’s special table. Examining its con- 
tents, he sought, found, and then removed a long, nar- 
row package. The box was relocked, and the keys 
returned to their resting place. In a second the fire 
burning on the hearth was deftly stirred and the long, 
narrow package was swiftly consumed amid its leaping 
fiames. While Basil watched its destruction, aversion 
and satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as they had in 
those of his grandfather earlier in the evening. 

When the last vestige of the paper package had dis- 
appeared, he sprang to his feet, every feature exultant. 
Sleep? No, indeed ! He must walk, run, fly ! Every 
nerve was tingling triumphantly, for all pressure of 
anxious care was removed. If his grandfather were 
to die suddenly, all his large possessions would natu- 
rally revert to himself and Hester — for the obnox- 
ious will, assigning the estate to others, existed no 
longer ! 


SOWING TO THE WIND. 


185 


Out into the moonlight sped Basil, and down the 
towpath by Frenchman’s Bay leading to Cromwell’s 
Harbor. 

Across the water the moon had risen. The path, 
the sea, the sail of many a boat, the rocks, the islands, 
and the mainland — all partook of the beautiful illu- 
mination. The tranquil silence of the summer night 
was all around him. In the south gleamed the warn- 
ing light in Egg Rock Lighthouse ; in the harbor 
glittered the lights on yachts at anchor. The large 
proportions of Bald Porcupine, in all the might of its 
rugged cliffs, rose above the water, snowy where the 
moonbeams rested, sable where it loomed in the 
shadow. The outline of other islands was dim ; phos- 
phorescent the glitter of the waves. Rowboats, from 
which songs were wafted, crossed and recrossed the 
silvery band that lay athwart the bay. Voices called 
from one canoe to another. Occasionally the long, 
desolate cry of the loon rang out and died over the 
water. 

From the cottages of summer residents floated 
music, and lights streamed amid the foliage and across 
the lawns. Although it was after midnight, gayety 
still held its festival at Bar Harbor. 

Basil sat down on a rock, just above a pretty cove 
where children had played half the day, watching the 
sails against the deep-blue sky, or wading in the little 
pools gathering shells and pebbles. Those little ones 
were now slumbering as sweetly and carelessly as 
Basil had once slumbered — but would sleep no 
more, haunted by the remembrance of that package 


186 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


consumed on the hearth of his grandfather’s cottage. 
He was amazed to discover that his exultation had 
suddenly disappeared, while his resolute purpose 
remained so unshaken. Whither had his joy fled? 
his castles in the air? his thrilling anticipations for 
the future? 

The deliciously sweet, dreamy strains of “ The 
Lorelei ” floated out to him from the open casements 
of the nearest cottage. All the blue and shining 
Rhine was in its musical flow, and the siren’s song 
in its heart-melting melody. So had the siren sung to 
him ; and her song had drawn him on and on and on, 
till, as the boatman in Heine’s poem, gazing on the 
height where sat the beauteous singer, he also forgot 
the perilous rapids while the lovely voice floated over 
the river but to mock and destroy him. 

Basil rose ; his pale, determined face, clearly re- 
vealed in the moonlight, had aged ; but he did not 
regret his deed ; he only regretted that the charm 
had faded and that the years to come would hold no 
magic strong enough to gild the ease that should be 
his through one act of treachery and wrong. 

‘‘Right or wrong, I have done it! I am glad, and 
ready to abide all the results,” he thought, rising 
from the rock and gazing once more seaward, for the 
witchery of the summer night still held him. Saunter- 
ing back to Ullescliffe, he seemed already to possess 
the wealth he had coveted as he remembered the 
remark with which his grandfather had locked the 
oaken box : — 

“ All is now in order. This will not be reopened 


SOWING TO THE WIND. 


187 


till after my death. Then hand my keys to Boultby 
& Cassiton ; they will see my will executed.” 

As Basil strode on, the face of Gudule de Rosam- 
bert — which he had seen but once — flitted before 
him, an expression of scorn in the proud, clear eyes 
for the deed in which he had so triumphed. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT. 

H ester suffered for days from the strain of that 
painful interview with her grandfather. He 
was ever before her — now tearful and tender, then 
harsh and repellent. 

Basil wrote her : — 

He speaks constantly of you, but refuses to see you. Many 
questions are asked concerning your tastes, studies, plans, and 
friends. You are commiserated for being left to my “ faithless 
care.” Again and again grandfather recurs to your loss of prop- 
erty through my “extravagance and dishonesty.” He does not 
hesitate to use the latter term with peculiar and bitter vehemence. 
For my care of him he vouchsafes no thanks; still he will not per- 
mit me to leave him. Somewhere in that hard, pitiless nature 
there is a vein of human feeling; he cannot utterly ignore that I 
am his daughter’s son. Would he respected the rights he seeks to 
ignore 1 

This morning he burned package after package of old letters 
and papers. 1 am very glad of that. 

The last six words were so carefully erased that 
Hester could not decipher them. 

He talks constantly of the past, wishing he had his life to 
re-live. 

“With your present experience, of course,” I ventured to 
suggest. 

“Yes; otherwise I would perpetrate the same mistakes from 
which I suffer to-day. To be young again, Fortestme 1 Oh, what it 
would be to he young! and then — with my present knowledge — 
to carve my life to wider, greater ends ! If I had known, oh, what 
could I not have saved both my daughter and myself 1 ” 


188 


THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT. 


189 


“ But my dear mother was happy, sir.” 

“Happy? Never!” 

“ Pardon me, grandfather ; I have not forgotten my home.” 

The veins on his temples swelled violently; his eyes flashed 
and he clenched his hand. 

“ To the hour of your mother’s death she regretted our 
estrangement.” 

“ I grant that, grandfather.” 

“ Then do not speak of happiness ! Now take yourself off for a 
walk or a row, or to see Hester. I ’ll not need you for an hour 
or more.” 

But I did not comply. I only withdrew to write letters and 
read. 


While Hester was holding Basil’s note in her hand 
she heard Jack Bolton’s voice. 

“ Oh, are you here, Miss Wilmerding? I am glad ! 
I have just returned from a sail past Egg Rock Light- 
house to the cod-fishing grounds. We had fine luck I 
But now we are going to the Indian encampment, 
and we wish you and your friends to join us.” 

“Here we are!” responded Miss Conway in her 
blithe tones. “Your mother’s note came a moment 
since. Ah, I see her ! ” 

The party debated whether they should row to the 
encampment or walk there across the bluff. The 
latter course was preferred. So the friends strolled 
on in the sweet air and warm sunshine, enjoying every 
step of the way. 

While Hester was wishing for her brother, he un- 
expectedly joined her. He had called at the hotel, 
and, learning from Judith the path the party had 
taken, was presently in their midst answering ques- 
tions concerning Mr. Harcourt, who, happily engaged 


190 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


with an old New York friend for the time, had dis- 
missed his grandson from attendance. 

Hester was troubled by her brother’s paleness and 
forced gayety. She linked her arm in his. 

“You are overworking, Basil,” she remonstrated 
gently. 

“ Nonsense ! Remember I have Dawson as well as 
Clinton, if I need relief ; besides the lifting does not 
devolve on me. I am at Ullescliffe as companion, 
reader, chessplayer, and also as a target for the sharp 
arrows which his highness enjoys shooting. They hit 
the bull’s eye, too ! ” 

“Oh, how I wish grandfather were fond of you! 
Yet he must be — his own nearest kin.” 

“ With his peculiar disposition that weighs lightly,” 
responded her brother bitterly. 

“I had such a strange dream last night, Basil. 
Grandfather was standing on a rock overhanging the 
sea. In his hand I saw a long, narrow, folded paper. 

“ ‘ I made a vow, Hester,’ said he. ‘ Come and wit- 
ness that I renounce it.’ 

“ The paper was then torn in a hundred pieces. As 
the wind caught them, I saw on a fluttering strip — 
‘ Last will and testament.’ ‘ O grandfather,’ I cried, 
‘is it your will you are destroying?’ ‘Yes, child. 
When I am gone, there being no will, you and Basil 
will inherit all.’ Then he faded from my sight ; but 
on the green waves still floated the torn will that 
by its destruction revoked the vow he had kept so 
long.” 

Basil was extremely agitated ; unaccountably so to 


THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT. 


191 


Hester, who watched him anxiously. The newlines of 
care and unrest, so visible on his face, distressed her. 

He was thinking — “What if a sudden remorse 
should suggest to grandfather the reopening of his oak 
box to destroy the will ! ’’ 

He dropped his sister’s arm. “ I must return to 
Ullescliffe, Hester.” 

“ O Basil, do come with us ! You have so little 
change ; so little that is pleasant or refreshing.” 

‘ ‘ So little ? I have nothing but heavy care and 
perplexity,” replied he bitterly. “ Would it were all 
over — well over ! ” he muttered under his breath. 

Hurriedly excusing himself, Basil left the party, 
goaded by the awful fear that soon his act might be 
revealed, to his own complete undoing. 

Monsieur de Rosambert read Hester’s trouble in 
her face. Taking Basil’s place, he endeavored to 
soothe her anxiety. 

“If it were any one else ! But I know my brother’s 
temperament. He is becoming ill from sleeplessness 
and uncertainty.” 

“The strain cannot continue long. Mr. Wilmer- 
ding is young and strong ; and do you know, made- 
moiselle, this very care you deprecate is increasing 
your brother’s power of self-control and expanding his 
nature in new ways.” 

Hester half smiled. 

“ Fear paralyzes all that is best in us ; does it not? 
You cannot use your energies as you would if you 
were hopeful. When your brother needs sunshine, 
you can only invite him into your cloud.” 


192 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ Too true ! But there is evil in the world, Mon- 
sieur de Rosambert.’* 

“ That I admit, mademoiselle ; but evil noted and 
checkmated. There is above us an Eye, and in the 
midst of us a Hand ; a divine Will that must have its 
sweet and beneficent way.” 

“ But in the meantime ” — 

“We suffer if we forget; but the end will rebuke 
our doubt, showing us the good that was coming, as 
the dawn follows the darkness of the night.” 

“ Is this your faith or observation? ” asked Hester, 
only half convinced. 

“ Both.” 

“ Sometimes I too believe it. I wish it were thus 
with me always.” 

Olga, rapturous over the return of Count Viazemski, 
and holding his hand, was dancing on before them. 
Jack and Nelly, with Gudule de Rosambert and Meta, 
were just behind. Madame de Chavigni, leaning on 
the arm of a young Creole cousin, Arthur Carroll, 
who had lately arrived at Bar Harbor, was walking on 
slowly by the side of Miss Conway and Mrs. Bolton. 

They were now crossing the bluff, where, amid clus- 
tering thickets of fragrant vanilla grass and sweet 
fern, wild roses budded, blossomed, and dropped their 
petals till the ground was rosy with their bloom. 

There was a large crowd of visitors at the encamp- 
ment. They went in and out of the tents set like 
booths on either side of a wide, neat carriage road, 
and were looking at, pricing, and buying every variety 


THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT, 


193 


of work the Penobscots and Passamaquoddies had 
to offer. 

Olga immediately seized a stuffed owl to carry to 
Russia, to remind her of her neighbor’s silver owl 
which she had upset that memorable day. She also 
purchased some bows and arrows, a gull’s silvery 
breast and wings, and a tiny canoe and paddles, as 
mementos of Bar Harbor. 

Mrs. Bolton and Miss Conway ordered a quantity of 
wood baskets and flowerpots of birch bark, adorned 
with an etched frieze of Mount Desert scenes. 

Arthur Carroll picked out a sealskin, a deerskin, 
a canoe, a pair of moccasins, a pair of snowshoes, 
and a lacrosse bat to send on to Louisiana. 

Gudule and Meta fancied the pretty baskets of 
sweet-scented vanilla grass of various shapes and 
hues. Gudule chose one of soft yellow, curiously 
braided and fashioned, to lay on her toilet table in 
Paris when the sky was cloudy, that it might remind 
her of Bar Harbor sunshine and all the happy hours 
and the friends she had made in that enchanting 
Mount Desert across the sea. 

Miss Conway, unobserved, gently laid her purse 
in Hester’s hand, bidding the girl buy anything — 
everything — she fancied; but Hester, smiling, as 
gently returned the full portemonnaie. Then Miss 
Patty, shaking her head, made her own selections, 
buying every pretty bit of work she thought her dear 
Hester would fancy and ordering the big package sent 
on to the hotel. 

Jack had filled Nelly’s hands with whatever he saw 


194 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


she approved, besides burdening his own arms with 
what she could not carry. 

Madame de Chavigni bought some lovely, pearly 
grebe plumage, intending it for Hester’s winter adorn- 
ment, and was turning to her to ask a question, 
when she felt a tiny hand clutching her gown, and 
looking down saw a little Indian girl, with liquid eyes 
shedding love on the strange lady whose beautiful 
face had bewitched her across the tent. 

Constance de Chavigni stooped to gather the tiny 
creature in her arms. Children were painfully attract- 
ive to this woman. In their features, forms, voices, 
smiles, and tears she saw the haunting image of her 
own vanished darling. When the stranger’s little hand 
touched her cheek, she shivered and shrank back. 

The child felt it, and immediately questioned the 
lovely face of the lady with humid eyes and trem- 
bling lips. To this too sensitive nature — keenly, 
painfully responsive to every word and look, as the 
mimosa to the faintest human touch or breath — what 
of suffering had not life in reserve ? 

“ Tell me your name, little one.” 

“ Zelma.” 

“ And your age.” 

There was no reply. 

An old squaw had drawn near. 

“ Zelma is four. Zelma have no father, no mother,” 
she said. “ She lives with all. All take care. Zelma 
plait baskets ; she make living.” 

“ Let me have Zelma ! ” cried Madame de Chavigni. 

“ One hundred dollar ! ” was the eager answer. 


THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT. 


195 


“ I will give the Penobscots five hundred. That is 
more than Zelma will ever earn by basket plaiting.” 

The Indians gathered round the lady. The eldest 
in the group, an aged Penobscot, prepared to make 
the transfer according to Indian law. It took but 
little time. Then Madame de Chavigni and her 
charge, accompanied by her friends, left the en- 
campment. 

The adoption of Zelma was the theme of conversa- 
tion at Bar Harbor. No one, save Hester and Ju- 
dith, understood the secret of that sudden impulse 
and overpowering yearning for a child to love and be 
loved by. 

But an Indian ! 

All Bar Harbor demurred, doubting the wisdom of 
the step and wondering if race peculiarities would not 
later cause Madame de Chavigni much difficulty. 

“ At any rate it is a diversion, an interest, a whim 
in which a wealthy woman may indulge herself ! ” said 
the gossiping crowd. 

Mrs. Bolton was deeply shocked. Miss Conway 
was too amazed to discuss the act. Meta and Jack 
marveled, the latter openly amusing himself by specu- 
lating how long the Creole lady could guard the little 
half-savage creature from a return to wildwood paths, 
for she would surely hunger and thirst for her “ native 
heath.” “And yet, who knows?” thought Jack, while 
drawing from memory the beautiful face, whose 
every feature, softened from the original type, al- 
most led him to believe that Zelma must have been 


196 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


stolen from some Spanish mother for her witchery of 
face and form. 

Monsieur de Rosambert, Gudule, and Helen Armi- 
tage refrained from expressing an opinion. They 
thought they might trust the wisdom of Madame de 
Chavigni’s own instincts. 

Arthur Carroll was dumfounded, as he explained, 
and looked on, wondering how his cousin Constance 
would manage to introduce her nursling to the notice 
of the fastidious in New Orleans. 

Hester, happy for her friend’s new interest, ex- 
claimed : “I am glad, very glad that you have found 
Zelina and that she has found you ! ” 

“ I believe it was meant to be,” was all Madame de 
Chavigni responded. 

To dress the lovely child according to her own 
refined taste, to teach her, to play with her, and 
above all to bestow her long pent-up love on a little 
creature who drank in every expression of her tender- 
ness as a thirsty flower drinks the rain, was a blessing 
whose enriching power to the sorrow-smitten woma4 
no one could measure. Her sad eyes lost the wistful 
yearning that had so pained Hester. Her step be- 
came light and quick, and her mellow laugh, never 
before heard by Hester, was awakened by Zelma after 
all the long years of silence and self-repression. The 
child was her shadow, clinging to her alone while 
glancing shyly at every other face and avoiding every 
other touch. 

Hester began also to believe that “ it was meant to 
be,” and that the little one was a heaven-sent gift as 


THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT, 


197 


of sweet spring to the winter of many suffering years. 
Under Zelina’s unconscious influence long-sealed forces 
wakened, and Constance de Chavigni was a new 
creature. 

Judith wept as she joyfully watched this resurrec-* 
tion of a nature she had supposed dead. Far from 
feeling jealous of the fresh interest that had broken 
the bitter and most heavy chains of her beloved mis- 
tress, she rejoiced, and ministered to the child most 
faithfully. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


WATER LILIES FROM ECHO LAKE. 

HAT sunny, gracious morning on which Miss 



_L Conway and her friends had walked to the 
Indian encampment was followed by several days of 
fog. Its coming is always the opportunity at Bar 
Harbor for resuming indoor occupations — letter 
writing, reading, sewing, embroidery, and piano prac- 
tice, enlivened by the always brightly burning logs 
on every Bar Harbor hearth. 

The lifting of the fog was watched for with the 
interest peculiar to each individual. To the many it 
was only the removal of an uncomfortable interference 
with the walks, drives, rows, and tennis that lured 
them into the delicious air and sunshine ; to the few 
its dissipation was noted with a keen delight in the 
attendant picturesqueness. 

“ I maintain,” said Monsieur de Rosambert, “ that 
we enjoy our sunlight all the more for these occasional 
days of fog.” 

“ Granted,” replied Gudule. “But I would like to 
live where fog was unknown — mental, physical, or 
natural ! ” 

The dense, chilly mist that had enfolded Bar 
Harbor — through which one could hear but not see 
the beating of the surge against the cliffs, or the 
incoming and outgoing steamers from Portland and 


198 


WATER LILIES FROM ECHO LAKE. 199 


Rockland — gave evidence of a change that was 
hailed from every window. The apparent remote- 
ness of Bar Harbor from all contact with simple, 
natural pleasures — Mount Desert seeming to rest 
amid the clouds in the spectral atmosphere — was at 
last ended. A silvery luster enlivened the gloomy 
density ; the cloud-curtain quivered, and then slowly 
lifted, to reveal the gleam of sunshine on a sail, the 
hull of the vessel being still hidden. 

“Ah, there are the sea gulls!” cried Olga, “and 
the trees of one of the islands I ” 

So, little by little, sea and shore were restored 
from cloudland, and Bar Harbor resumed its charming 
outdoor life enhanced by the brief loss of sunny hours. 

Count Viazemski was soon to return to Russia, and 
Olga hung around Nelly in a doleful frame of mind. 

“If we could do something, hear something, at 
the same time of day, it would not be so unhappy for 
me,” sighed Olga, surveying, with maternal pride, her 
Brussels doll, arrayed in the garments Jack had so 
derided. 

“If we study one of the Gospels daily,” suggested 
Nelly. 

“ Then let it be Saint Luke’s, where you showed me 
my ‘ neighbor,’ ” returned Olga, brightening. “ I will 
promise to read each day at a certain hour, and write 
for an answer to what I do not understand. My let- 
ters shall be in English ; for at home I speak always 
in Russ or French.” • 

“ To hear from you will be something for which to 
watch the incoming steamers.” 


200 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


“And I’ll read and read your letters; for you’ll 
tell me all you do and what my neighbor does ; and 
about Miss Conway and her friends.” 

“ I will keep a diary for you, Olga, writing a page 
or two daily, and then mail it to you on each Satur- 
day’s steamer.” 

Olga’s gratitude was expressed in her enfolding 
arms and rapid kisses. 

“Will there always be ‘neighbors’? Must I re- 
member them in Russia as at Bar Harbor ? ” 

“What do you think, honestly?” asked Helen, 
laughing. 

“I asked papa if I could carry home anything I 
chose from Mount Desert. 

“ ‘ Certainly,’ answered he. 

“ Then I said, ‘ Be careful, papa, for I wish to find 
a second Zelma ! ’ You should have seen papa’s face 
lengthen. 

“ ‘ Pardon my retracting, for the first time, a prom- 
ise I have made, Olga ; but I could not undertake 
the care of a small Indian, even to gratify my little 
daughter.’ And I am not sure I now care for her. 
Miss Nelly. Really, I only wish you or Miss Hester 
— ah, do come home with me ! I ’ll show you as 
many marvels in St. Petersburg and Moscow as you 
have shown me on Mount Desert. See ! ” running 
for a portfolio of very beautiful water-color Russian 
views. “This is the church of Saint Basil. All the 
pretty blues and gold and silver and green and lilac 
are painted just as you see them in this picture, only 
more beautifully ! There are other churches and 


WATEE LILIES FEOM ECHO LAKE. 201 


palaces — oh, so many, and so rich and splendid, 
with amber and jewels and gold and silver ! There 
is nothing elsewhere to equal them, papa says.” 

Jack came rushing in. “ AVho will go to Echo Lake 
with me and bring home hundreds of water lilies? ” 

“ I will go, and Miss Nelly and papa.” 

“The other day I climbed up Beech Hill and saw 
Mount Desert with all its lakes at my feet, and sil- 
very Somes’ Sound shining through the middle. I 
sat down on a bank of juniper — oh ! how sweetly it 
did smell ! and how easy to sit on ! I looked down, 
down, down a granite precipice — hundreds of feet — 
into Echo Lake. The lily buds were floating and the 
lilies were lying white as snow on the blue water.” 

“ Oh, why did you not take us with you?/’ 
“Because I had not intended climbing Beech Hill 
when I started. But I made a vow that I’d invite 
you as soon as the fog took itself off to sea. So here 
I am ! You will come and gather lilies ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! Shall we climb Beech Hill? ” 

“ Not to reach Echo Lake. We must drive round 
the other side. Now, away with you, Nelly and Olga, 
and I’ll find Count Viazemski.” 

As Jack and his party whirled away from Bar Har- 
bor in quest of water lilies. Monsieur de Rosambert, 
Gudule, and Hester were driving up Eden Street, past 
the many picturesque homes of the wealthy summer 
residents. As they crossed the bridge over Duck 
Brook and ascended a steep hill, the most exquisite 
view of Frenchman’s Bay greeted them. Many ves- 
sels were flitting across the sunlit water, or gliding in 


202 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


and out between the islands. On and on rolled the 
carriage till the road, crossing another brook, lost it- 
self in the Bay Drive, to merge into the old country 
road leading to HulFs Cove. 

Monsieur de Rosambert and Gudule were anxious to 
see what remained of the second French colony on 
Mount Desert — the graves of the descendants of the 
Baron de Cadillac, to whom Louis XIV granted the 
whole of the island in recognition of his valuable serv- 
ices for the French crown in America. The wooden 
cross in the little graveyard on the hill at Hull’s Cove 
was found, marking the resting place of the De Gr6- 
goires, who had passed away in 1810. 

Reentering the carriage, they drove to the pretty 
beach on the northern shore where were tall cliffs 
hollowed by the sea into grand arches, etched with 
zigzag moldings, in whose deep recesses one involun- 
tarily glances for the massive doors seen in old 
cathedrals. Standing within the recess, what a vision 
of sky, sea, and island was framed within the bold 
and mighty arch that towered toward the blue ! The 
smooth, sandy beach recalled Miss Conway’s descrip- 
tion of a picnic given there by moonlight, with bon- 
fires kindled within the deep recesses, ruddily illumin- 
ing the vast arches and casting grotesque shadows 
worthy of gnome dances and elfin faces, denouncing 
mutely all invaders of their eerie festivals. 

“If we return by the head of Somes’ Sound, and 
thence to Bar Harbor by the Eagle Lake road, we 
shall doubtless meet the water lily gatherers,” said 
Monsieur de Rosambert; and so it proved. 





CATHEDRAL ROCK 

near HulTs Cove. 





WATEB LILIES FBOM ECHO LAKE. 203 


Laps and baskets were laden with the gleaming, 
snowy lilies resting amid their cool, pale green leaves. 

“ Oh, the old scow was better than a boat ! ” cried 
Olga. “ I have lilies and lilies, for you all, and for the 
little Indian, too. We saw the biggest eagle on Echo 
Cliff ! When he spread his great wings and floated 
away over Beech Hill I could have ridden on his 
back, and little Zelma too ! ” 

While laughing and talking, Olga was filling the lap 
of Hester and Gudule with water lilies. She would 
not return to Bayview Cottage till she had given a 
share to Miss Conway and Madame de Chavigni. 
The latter had just returned from a drive with her 
little adopted child, who was all smiles and innocent 
happiness as she buried her olive face amid the snowy 
bloom, and listened to Olga’s animated voice telling 
how they had been gathered from their home on such 
a blue, blue lake ! 

Madame de Chavigni moved as one released from 
a burden that had bowed her form and sapped her 
strength. Her shining glance rested on Zelma, and 
she embraced and spoke in loving tones to the small, 
graceful creature whose step was becoming elastic and 
whose carriage already bore promise of the lithe and 
noble bearing of her race. 

“ She is my little forest fairy,” said Madame de 
Chavigni to Monsieur de Rosambert. “ All the air 
of the free, fragrant woods, of the blue lakes, grand 
mountains, and silvery streams of Mount Desert are 
around her. The song of the sea is as dear and 
familiar to her as the cradle song of a mother. I have 


204 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


seen her throw herself on the cliff and listen entranced 
to the beating surge with a smile tender, proud, and 
loving ; then stretch forth her arms to the breeze and 
the sea gulls, feeling that they were akin to her own 
nature.” 

“ I can see what interest and pure pleasure she has 
brought you.” 

“Ah, you do not know the half without knowing 
the sad story of my life. Zelma is my ‘ way of 
escape,’ isn’t she? ‘ that I might be able’ to endure 
the memory of my sorrowful past and empty present 
and future? In her I have awakened to new life. 
Her education will be my chief occupation and joy. 
I can bear now to think of New Orleans, because 
she will be the center of my desolate home. From 
her streams of fresh interest will always flow into 
my life. I had asked Hester to come to me. How 
happy she could have made me ! But she could not 
promise. In Zelma I found one who needed me ; one 
without ties — as lonely as myself. Into her young 
life I hope to bring all the sunshine that has been 
denied to mine.” 

“Who denied it?” gently asked Monsieur de 
Rosambert. 

Madame de Chavigni was mute. 

“And Who has re-given, not what you lost, but a 
new joy that must ever deepen and widen your best 
nature as time glides on ? ” 

“True.” 

“ Believe me ; ‘ The Lord is rich unto all that call 
upon him,’ whether by conscious prayer or by the 


WATEB LILIES FBOM ECHO LAKE. 205 

misery of a life of which he alone knows every suf- 
fering detail.” 

Constance de Chavigni drew a long breath as she 
unconsciously clasped her hands and gazed at the 
noble sympathetic face before her. 

“I have doubted God,” she murmured. “I have 
hated to remember him, believing he permitted the 
awful agony of my life which hopelessly wrecked me 
when I was young — so young ! Oh,” she continued, 
her lovely face piteous, as memory vividly recalled the 
past, “I have suffered too much! I am wounded; 
broken from head to foot. The rack on which I was 
stretched spared nothing of its cruel power to torture 
and destroy both mind and body. And yet you tell 
me ‘ God is love ’ ! ” 

“ ‘ God is love,’ notwithstanding all the clouds that 
darkly usher in some of his providences. If you had 
yielded, — not thrust the anguish from you, — those 
years of blackness and desolation would have been 
borne by a stronger, mightier than you, dear Madame 
de Chavigni.” 

“I succumbed to the suffering and hated the Will 
that had allowed it.” 

“It is in refusing to accept pain that the sting lies 
and thrusts its venom deeper and deeper into the 
wound.” 

“ One could not accept such a doom ! ” cried Con- 
stance passionately. 

“But it is in just that bending, melting of the 
human will that the first ray of sunlight can pierce 
the gloom.” 


206 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


Madame de Chavigni gazed toward the sea, silent 
and sorrowful. 

“ To each nature that trial is sent which will most 
test the power of the sufferer to hold firmly, loyally to 
God. To distrust him — to let go our hold on the 
heavenly — is the temptation. To feel that God is 
cruel, forgetful, is the first step the soul takes into 
that darkness too immeasurable, too awful to contem- 
plate. Oh, the loss of all earth contains is not worth 
the risk one dares in letting go the divine hand that 
alone can save and heal us ! ” 

“ And — to let go — that is the temptation? ” 

“ Yes ; it is our test — the measure of our fidelity.” 

“Ah! I cannot, cannot say or feel ‘Thy will be 
done ! ’ to the way in which all I loved were separated 
from me 1 If my dearest ones had been taken from 
me in some less terribly cruel manner, I might, per- 
haps, have patiently accepted the pain and held firmly 
the hand that smote me. But there was no mercy in 
my trial. Every memory harrows and fills my soul 
with horror. And how they suffered ! ” she cried bro- 
kenly. “The night was around them, the awful terror 
of the sea, the wind, the darkness, and the hurricane ! 
O Monsieur de Rosambert, do not try to help me. 
There is no help 1 Zelma is the first beam that has 
come to stay in my wrecked and lonely life.” 

“And who sent Zelma?” 

A faint smile illumined the pale face ; but Con- 
stance responded in no other way. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE TOWPATH. 



HERE Basil had sat on the rocky shore path 


in the moonlight, Hester sat in the sunlight, 


a big sun umbrella over her shoulder and a book on 
her knee ; but she was not reading. The radiant as- 
pect of sea and sky, the dazzling, snowy cloud moun- 
tains, the drifting sails, floating gulls, fresh verdure 
of the islands contrasting with their rugged cliffs, and 
the birch-bark canoes, each paddled by an Indian — 
all charmed and held her attention captive. Gudule 
and Meta sat near her, embroidering, while Nelly 
read aloud. Olga and Zelma were just below, dig- 
ging in a cove, their merry laughter floating to the 
party on the rocks, causing a responsive and invol- 
untary smile. 

Madame de Chavigni was at Hester’s right hand ; 
and Miss Conway and Mrs. Bolton, comparing their 
experiences on the continent, were oblivious of all 
else for the moment. 

Monsieur de Rosambert, Count Viazemski, Arthur 
Carroll, and Jack were out on the bay, and Hester 
watched their sailboat as it neared the part of the 
shore where her party was gathered. 

“ When the De Rosamberts and Viazemskis return 
to Europe, Miss Conway and the Boltons and Helen 
to New York, and you, Madame de Chavigni, to New 


208 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


Orleans, I shall still sit here. You may imagine me 
alone on the rocks and — be sorry for me ! ” said 
Hester, half laughing, yet with a quiver in her voice 
that revealed how lonely she would be without the kind 
friends who had given Mount Desert such a charm. 

“But why need you remain behind us?” eagerly 
asked the Creole lady. “ If your gra'hdfather’s condi- 
tion continues the same and your brother must remain, 
why cannot you come with me ? Think of the southern 
city you have never seen, that will give you so much 
to see and remember. My home will always possess 
a room over whose door will be inscribed, ‘ Hester’s.’ 
Zelma can never cause forgetfulness of one whose 
sympathy and love were, and are, so very, very dear 
to me ! If the day dawns on which you are free to 
choose your home, remember that Constance de Cha- 
vigni claims you — if you will only, only come ! ” 

“ You are more than kind to me,” murmured Hester, 
gratefully. 

“You will write every week, will you not? In any 
sorrow or joy, if you need me, Hester, only call and 
I will come. What are miles ? I should never think 
of the distance between north and south where you 
are concerned.” 

Zelma came running with her lap full of shells, sea- 
weed, and pebbles. Her cheeks wore the bloom of a 
peach, her eyes beamed as she approached the one 
being whom she idolized with a love too great to utter 
save in those dumb ways by which a dog gives ex- 
pression to his devotion for his master. 

“For you — all for you,” emptying her treasures 


THE TOWPATH 


209 


in the lap of her best friend, throwing her arms round 
her neck, and resting her head on her shoulder. 

Madame de Chavigni expressed her pleasure, while 
patting the little hand that had so carefully selected 
what the child deemed the prettiest gifts the sea had 
brought to the cove for her loveliest and dearest. 

“Happy Zelma ! ” said Hester, longing always to 
possess thus the companionship she prized so deeply. 

Monsieur de Rosambert and Count Viazemski had 
left the boat and were coming to them over the 
rocks, while Jack and Arthur sailed farther down 
the bay. 

Each had a package of foreign letters. Sitting 
down by Hester and Madame de Chavigni, they 
begged permission to examine their mail. 

Presently Olga claimed her father’s attention, and 
he left the little party to learn in what dilemma his 
small daughter might be. Marfa stood near her, 
laughing, and Judith was on the other side with 
Zelma ; but the little Russian would allow no one 
but her father to approach her. 

Meantime, Henry de Rosambert had handed Gudule 
three letters addressed to Mademoiselle de Rosambert, 
and was busy over seven of his own. 

“ One from my dear mother, the other six from 
friends who are engaged in the Parisian work of Mr. 
McAll. This letter is from M^re Michaud. Great 
happiness has come to her ; those for whom she has 
been praying and working have learned the ha[)py 
truth that is the solace and inspiration of her own 
noble, unselfish life. Your kind questions of last 


210 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


evening, Mademoiselle Wilmerding, have encouraged 
me to tell you of what so deeply interests me. ” 

“ I would be so glad if you would inform me, 
monsieur, of the commencement of the McAll work 
in Paris.” 

“My narrative may prove too long even for your 
kind wish ; but you tempt me to comply when you ask 
of what so nearly concerns me.” 

“Test my interest, monsieur.” 

“ I will then tell you what M^re Michaud told me. 
I was in Switzerland during that August of 1871 
when the Me Alls came over from England for a brief 
holiday. They had no thought then of leaving friends 
and country to become workers in France. Their own 
parish was dear to them and it seemed that God had 
placed their life work there. 

“ On the evening in August which I have mentioned, 
M^re Michaud, her day’s work done, walked slowly 
down one of the thoroughfares of Belleville, — a sub- 
urb of Paris, the workingman’s district, — her fine, 
sad face lighting as she recognized the groups of 
artisans hastening home. Jacques, her son, had has- 
tened thus before the communists’ insurrection in the 
spring of that same 1871 ; but he was then in prison 
expiating that crime with hundreds of others not yet 
released. As M^re Michaud looked at those ardent, 
energetic workmen, contrasting their freedom with 
Jacques’ imprisonment, her heart trembled with an- 
guish ; yet daily she went from her little home to see 
them pass and exchange a kind greeting with one and 
another, breathing a secret prayer for each. 


THE TOWPATH. 


211 


“A fervent hope of better days for her beloved 
Paris filled this humble woman’s heart. She was ever 
beseeching the all-powerful God for a deliverance. 
Though the streets were then peaceful, she could 
never, never forget how, three months earlier, they 
had rung with cries of massacre and streamed red 
with blood. 

“At what moment might not these scenes repeat 
themselves? No priest could calm that lawless, mur- 
derous crowd of men and women. Therefore, M6re 
Michaud said, she daily prayed that the Spirit of the 
good God, for Jesus’ sake, would move on the turbu- 
lent waters of their souls and bring forth the fruits 
of holiness.” 

“ Then M6re Michaud was not a Roman Catholic in 
1871, monsieur? ” 

“No, a Protestant; not by birth, but from con- 
viction. Two years before, a dangerous illness had 
seized her at Auvergne, where she was nursed by an 
earnest Christian and taught to prize the treasures 
hidden in the New Testament. 

“When she returned to Paris, her old friends laughed 
loud and long at her change of creed and renounce- 
ment of Romanism. Not that they cared for the teach- 
ings of the priests, or believed them ; but it amused 
them to find a woman so earnest in matters of religion. 
During the awful insurrection of the people she re- 
mained unmolested ; for though none would adopt her 
changed opinions, those wild, unbelieving hearts in- 
stinctively respected the goodness revealing itself in 
all M^re Michaud’s words, acts, and ways. 


212 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“As I said, she came slowly down the street this 
August evening in 1871, nodding right and left, grow- 
ing more and more cheerful as she remembered that 
lately she had seen signs in her beloved people of 
increased weariness of priestcraft and some faint in- 
dications of a longing for a settled faith. 

“Though it was only here and there that one had 
expressed to her a desire to believe as she believed, 
yet this hopeful, loving soul took courage and prayed 
more and more fervently. Several times she had been 
sought and questioned, and eagerly had she told the 
glad tidings of a Saviour who had come to seek and 
save that which was lost. Men and women listened, 
half convinced, and then went on their way, while 
she continued praying for them and her beloved son 
Jacques. 

“The large warm faith of M^re Michaud was not 
to be disappointed ; deliverance was at hand. 

“ At the corner of two broad thoroughfares a crowd 
of workingmen had gathered. She hastened forward 
to see that they were grouped around a gentleman and 
lady, foreigners, who were distributing little French 
books and talking gently and persuasively. 

“ Suddenly Antoine Joubert stepped forth, address- 
ing the gentleman in broken English. 

“ ‘ Sir,’ said he, ‘ are you not a Protestant minis- 
ter? Then I have something to tell you. Through- 
out this whole district, containing tens of thousands 
of workmen, we are, to a man, done with the priests. 
But if any one would now teach us a religion of trutli, 
freedom, and reality, many of us are ready for it. 


THE TOWFATH. 


213 


M^re Michaud will tell you as much. She hopes for 
our future ; she has daily prayed for us ; yes, for two 
years,’ his voice sinking to a whisper. 

“ The English clergyman and his wife, much moved, 
left Belleville, feeling that a call from God had met 
them on the spot where the dreaded communists had 
so lately terrified the world with their lawless deeds, 
but were now yearning for the true Light and beseech- 
ing to be taught. 

“Nor was Antoine Joubert’s the only pathetic 
entreaty. Before leaving Paris a mechanic spoke 
beseechingly to Mr. McAll : ‘ O sir, will you not come 
and teach our poor people the true religion ? ’ 

“M^re Michaud found the days all too short for her 
prayer and praise. She was sure the English strangers 
would return and teach the gospel to those so hungry 
for its truths. ‘ The words of entreaty they heard in 
France will echo on in their English home, till they 
rise and come away,’ she said more than once to her 
friends, who feared they should never again see the 
clergyman and his gentle wife. 

“ Nor was her faith disappointed. The McAlls did 
relinquish their English home and returned to Paris, 
opening their first mission room in Belleville on Janu- 
ary 17, 1872.” 

“ Ah, it seems almost too good to be true ! ” cried 
Hester, who had unweariedly listened to her French 
friend. “And from that hour the work has pro- 
gressed ? ” 

“ From that hour. You shall read Mr. Me All’s 
own reports when you have leisure. They are deeply 
interesting.” 


214 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ I can believe it. Ah, how I wish I could work for 
soruething that is worth while ! ” exclaimed Hester. 
‘‘I am almost twenty -one and cannot see a result 
that pleases me or has aided any one.” 

“If you only” — began Monsieur de Rosambert 
eagerly ; but checked himself, for Hester was rising 
to leave the shore in answer to a summons from Miss 
Conway. 

The towpath was becoming too thronged by tourists, 
drawn thither by the beauty of sea and sky. 

“ One will soon have to seek Cape Breton Island,” 
said Miss Patty. “ There alone can one now find the 
solitude that reigned at Mount Desert when I first 
knew it.” 

“ But society is so necessary,” began Meta. 

Miss Patty, gathering up her shawl, laughed, but 
vouchsafed no other answer. 

“ Consider, dear Miss Patty,” persisted Meta ; “ the 
friends found at Mount Desert would have been 
missed at Cape Breton Island this summer. What is 
life worth without congenial companionship?” 

“I’m not denying that, you foolish girl ! But if I 
had been at Cape Breton Island the De Rosamberts 
would certainly have sought me — their only friend in 
America. Basil Wilmerding might have sailed farther 
east for variety, bringing his sweet sister to delight 
me ; and your mother and Madame de Chavigni might 
have preferred that wonderful silence of seashore. 
You perceive I have no desire to enjoy without my 
dear friends ; all I crave is some seclusion from the 
thronging numbers at Bar Harbor.” 


THE TOWPATH. 


215 


“They entertain me,” answered Meta. “ I like the 
variety of the life, the gayety, the incessant entertain- 
ment. Each day is so crowded with pleasant engage- 
ments. At Cape Breton Island I should indeed pos- 
sess some dear friends, but” — 

“Oh, you ungrateful child ! ” exclaimed Miss Patty. 
“ The day will come when the presence of one real, 
loyal friend will outweigh a thousandfold all the gay 
society of a dozen Bar Harbors.” 

Meta glanced up into the sweet benign old face and 
saw a tear twinkling in the kind blue eyes. She 
linked her arm in Miss Conway’s, holding the sun 
umbrella over her head, and thus escorted her back 
to her hotel, talking merrily to win her old friend to 
her usual bright speech and manner. 

But Meta was not so entirely at ease as she would 
fain have appeared. Ever since the day in Duck 
Brook Glen she had been haunted by the vision of 
Paulinus sinking into slumber on the fern bank. 
What was her gay society life but a slumber, com- 
pared with the motive which she knew exalted the 
lives of the De Rosamberts? No aim higher than 
pleasure was hers ; no purpose stronger than self- 
pleasing ; no apprehension of responsibility for time, 
wealth, and talents. She, like Paulinus, had no 
inclination to rise from her green and fragrant fern 
bank, though her full repose was marred by thorns 
of remembrance and the vision of what she might 
have been if long ago she had thrown off the mental 
lethargy that now bound her from head to foot. The 
guardian angel had glanced imploringly toward the 


216 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


King’s palace, entreating divine aid in rousing his 
slumbering charge. Had the petition of her guardian 
angel wafted the breeze that now stirred her sleeping 
faculties and latent will? 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE BELLS OF IVAN, 



OR days after he had parted from Hester, Basil, 


tortured by apprehension, now his daily meat 
and drink, knew no rest. Mr. Harcourt’s friend had 
returned to New York and the old man was unusually 
silent. This silence seemed full of significance in 
Basil’s nervous state. How angrily he condemned his 
impatience and temerity in opening that oak box till 
the hands now tremulous and warm were still and cold 
in death ! 

“I should have had an abundance of time — an 
abundance of time ! ” he muttered restlessly, glancing 
at the clear-cut features of the fine face and head 
that lay back against the pillows of the commodious 
chair. 

“ I have a fancy to see Count Viazemski,” said Mr. 
Harcourt abruptly. “You told me he had returned to 
Bar Harbor. When I was in Russia I often met his 
father and traveled with him into Circassia. The 
present count was then only a lad.” 

“ Do you wish to see him immediately?” 

“Yes. Write a note at my dictation. Alexis has 
no idea that one who knew his father is so near him at 
Bar Harbor.” 

“ Nor did I know it, sir.” 

“ No ; you know literally nothing of my life. 


217 


218 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


Sometimes I believe it would have been wise if I had 
asked you to place portions of my chronicle on paper 
for Hester, Fortescue. Does she ever mention me?” 

“ She always inquires after you.” 

“ Has the girl one ray of kindly feeling for her 
grandfather ? ” 

The question was carelessly asked, but there was 
an eager lighting of the eyes and a quick move- 
ment of the hand and head that belied the apparent 
indifference. 

“I think Hester is very sorry for you,” bluntly 
answered Basil. 

“ Sorry for me? ” 

“ She thinks you are lonely and ill and in need of 
much she could and would do for you, were she 
allowed.” 

“Would she come here? live here while I need 
her?” 

“I have no doubt she would consider it a duty if 
you claimed it.” 

“ A duty? I do not care for the service of ‘ duty.’ 
Is it in that spirit that you remain?” 

“ It is right for me to be here, sir, so long as you 
do not forbid my presence.” 

“ But you would prefer to be elsewhere?” retorted 
the old man sarcastically. 

“ Yes and no.” 

“ Explain ! ” 

“ Pray excuse me, grandfather ; I am too weary to 
unravel my expressions of feeling.” 

“ Basil, when do you intend to live to some pur- 


THE BELLS OF IVAN. 


219 


pose? I shall no longer call you Fortescue. Is it 
your second name?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ It served you. I am an enigma even to myself. 
One year ago nothing would have induced me to see 
the son of Frederick Wilmerding under my roof. Is 
it that my spirit grows tamer as death approaches? 
What is death?” dreamily asked the old man, again 
leaning back in his chair. 

There was no response. 

“When I was in Russia,” he continued in the same 
dreamy voice, “I heard, in one of the churches con- 
nected with the Troitsa monastery, a choir of invisible 
boy sopranos chanting with most angelic voices behind 
the silver screen, — 

He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white rai- 
ment. And I will not blot out his name from the Book of Life : 
but I will confess his name before my Father and before his 
angels. 

Again Mr. Harcourt was silent, recalling the thrill- 
ingly sweet and inspiring voices and the lofty, many- 
tinted domes and towers rising against the pale blue 
northern sky. 

“ Basil, when you reach the hour fast approaching 
for me, how will you meet it? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ How would Hester meet it?” 

“ She has faith.” 

“ What a world this would have been had not 
death entered it ! ” 

“ Remove sickness, mental and physical, and death. 


220 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


and life would have been a boon. With them, the 
sooner it is over the better ! ” 

“ And what then?” 

“ I do not know,” replied Basil sullenly. 

“ I wish I did !” honestly answered his grandfather. 
“ ‘ Hold fast that which thou hast,’ chanted those rare 
and lovely voices. I believe I possess very little — 
nothing that would be recognized beyond.” 

“ Why don’t you see a clergyman, grandfather? ” 

“ I have thought of it. But those whom I have 
questioned did not illumine my darkness or give rest 
to my spirit.” 

“ Hester would say ” — 

“ What would Hester say? ” 

“ That you were in fault, not they,” returned Basil, 
with an abruptness which was the result of extreme 
mental disquiet. 

“No one can give faith to another. ‘All faith is the 
gift of God,’ I have heard your mother say, Basil ; but it 
was years and years ago. Why does it now'recur to me ?” 

“ My sister would say a good angel had hovered 
near and quickened memory.” 

“Oh, the years — the years I have wasted! I am 
wondering whether, in the life to come, I can recover 
what I have lost so culpably.” 

There was nO response from Basil ; nor did Mr. 
Harcourt seem to desire one. He lay back against 
his pillows musing. 

The servant who had been dispatched with his note 
and a carriage returned, accompanied by Count Alexis 
and Olga. 


THE BELLS OF IVAN, 


221 


“ It is a pleasure — more than a pleasure, Mr. Har- 
court, for my little daughter and myself to find so 
near us a friend of my father. I seem even to re- 
member your face, my dear sir. Were you not in 
Moscow one Easter?’* 

“Yes.” 

“ I was sure of it ! Little lad as I then was, I have 
never forgotten the enthusiasm of the American gen- 
tleman who was so fascinated by our mighty and most 
melodious bells.” 

“Their music was a revelation!” responded Mr. 
Harcourt eagerly, fresh strength seeming to come on 
the entrance of Count Viazemski, who was linked with 
the long-ago visit to the most picturesque and imposing 
city of the North. 

‘ ‘ The Easter of which you spoke I can never 
forget. From the lowest story of the tower of Ivan 
the Great to the top, overarched by the golden dome 
and lofty cross, the bells rang in unison. ‘ Christ 
is risen ! ’ pealed in melodious thunder from the 
lowest bell ; ‘ Christ is risen I ’ sonorously reiterated 
each successive tier ; ‘ Christ is risen ! ’ rang aloft the 
two silver bells beneath the dome.” 

Mr. Harcourt was all animation, his voice eloquent 
with the enthusiasm that revived whenever his Russian 
visit was the theme. 

“ I regret to find you so much of an invalid. I 
would press you to return with me, were it otherwise,” 
said Count Viazemski, pained by the evident traces of 
protracted suffering, mental and physical, that had 
been the fate of his father’s friend. 


222 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


‘ ‘ I shall see Russia no more ; nor, after a brief 
space, the daylight of earth. And then — what?” 

Mr. Harcourt grasped the hand of his guest. Olga, 
half terrified, glanced from one to the other, the ema- 
ciated, pallid appearance of the strange gentleman 
touching her both to pity and fear. 

“Remember the message of the Easter bells,” re- 
sponded Count Alexis eagerly but tenderly, “ for you 
and me : ‘ Christ is risen ! ’ Why ? 't’hat he may up- 
lift us from the night of death and bear us through 
its shadow to the dawn. Oh, believe it! believe it!” 

Olga was startled as she heard, in her father’s final 
entreaty, the very words of the saints in The Be- 
leagured City, returned to earth with the heavenly 
message of peace and pardon to the penitents of 
Semur. She gazed on her father and Mr. Harcourt ; 
and when the former knelt to offer a prayer for the 
almost passing soul, she sank on her knees trembling 
with sympathetic emotion. 

“Ah, you have brought light into my darkness!” 
exclaimed the old man brokenly. “ I will go on 
chanting the Easter message till the stone is rolled 
away from my sepulchre of gloom and doubt and 
1 arise a free man from an almost lifelong sleep of 
death.” 

“‘Christ is risen’; ‘the just for the unjust, that 
he might bring us to God.’ Hold that truth fast, dear 
old friend ; it will bring you into quiet waters and a 
safe haven.” 

“Your words seem the conclusion of the Easter 
message ! ” cried Mr. Harcourt, with brightening 


THE BELLS OF IVAH. 


223 


eyes. Then relapsing into sudden doubt and dread, 
he murmured : “ But you do not know my life. How 
can I, who have never sought aught but earth, be par- 
doned, when at the last only death is left to me? ” - 

‘ ‘ Life eternal, you mean ; not death — that brief 
moment ! But even that seeming ending is not yet 
here. To you is permitted the blessing of restitution, 
if need of restitution there may be.” 

Mr. Harcourt. started ; then sank back in his chair. 

“ If restitution will work only evil after I am gone, 
it would prove a curse, not a blessing.” His eyes 
rested on Basil, who became as pale as his grandfather. 

“I have thought over an act of restitution since I 
have been lying here. For years my will has resisted 
all the efforts conscience made to melt an iron resolu- 
tion. Lately much within me has altered. With a 
clear mind and broken spirit I have renounced — 
May God pardon all as freely as I do ! ” he abruptly 
concluded. 

His eyes closed and one of the heart attacks from 
which he suffered after any emotion, smote him as 
with the unconsciousness of death. 

Basil signed to Count Viazemski and Olga to with- 
draw, while he and one of the men servants and the 
physician, who had just entered, rapidly applied the 
necessary restoratives. 

As the sun sank the weather changed. The lovely 
day was gone as a dream, whirled away by gathering 
clouds and a northeast wind that tossed the sea into 
angry waves and thundering breakers. The gale in- 
creased, but no rain fell from the sky curtained with 


224 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


intense gloom. Under this starless, moonless dome, 
the water surged frantically, and the tide ran above 
its highest boundary. 

Mr. Harcourt, feebly drifting back to consciousness, 
listened to the beating surf and howling wind. 

Mount Desert Island, with its many cedars, hem- 
locks, firs, pines, larches, birches, and beeches, grand 
mountains, deep gorges, valleys, meadows, trout 
streams, and lakes, was responding to the wild cry of 
the gale — wind-swept and seeming to palpitate in the 
fierce grasp that sought to wrest it from its home on 
the coast of Maine. 

“ What a night to pass away in ! ” faintly exclaimed 
Mr. Harcourt. “ Oh, that I may not go forth on that 
long journey whence no traveler returns, in such a 
tempest ! Is it a long journey ? ” questioned he of 
himself, his voice sinking to a lower key. “I have 
sometimes thought it was but a moment — as we count 
time — before the spirit is at home. Basil ! 

“ I am here, grandfather.” 

“ Read the Fifty -first Psalm to me.” 

Though in no mood to comply, Basil obeyed im- 
mediately. As he finished the psalm, there was a 
lull in the gale, as if its strong winds were faltering 
in their onward rush through the sky. The answering 
cry of the sea was less wild. 

“ The stoM is passing over,” said Mr. Harcourt. 
“ I am prepared for the night, and Dawson and 
Clinton are both with me. You go, Basil, and learn 
what havoc this rainless storm has wrought along the 
coast.” 


THE BELLS OF IVAN. 


226 


Basil sprang to his feet, nervous and eager to be in 
motion. 

“ Ha ! the moon is out and the sky clear ! If you 
really do not need me, grandfather, a rushing walk 
would be delightful ! ” 

“ I do not need you.” 

Away went Basil, meeting crowds of tourists bent 
on the same quest. In the brilliant moonlight sea, 
earth and sky were luminous. The pinions of the 
gale were furled ; but the Atlantic was not yet calm. 
The towpath and that leading to Schooner Head were 
thronged. Basil chose the latter. Passing through 
the wicket gate to cross the meadow leading to the 
Spouting Horn, a scene of wild confusion met his 
sight where, toward the gigantic head, raving billows 
madly leaped and dashed, and broke against the 
mighty cliff. The exhilarating, briny air, the tumult 
of the water, the moon gliding as a queen amid the 
flying clouds that parted to let her pass and gaze 
on the heaving sea, so enchanted Basil that, had he 
been alone, he would have shouted and sung in liis 
exultation. 

The crowd gathered instead of lessening, and he 
was presently aware that Count Viazemski was at his 
side asking after his grandfather. Reassuring him as 
to his condition, he made an excuse to pass on, for 
he saw the De Rosamberts and Hester just behind. 
Basil wanted to be alone with the night. So un- 
strung was he, so oppressed by the memory of his 
dangerous, useless, and reckless act, that solitude 
amid unknown numbers — where he need not cross the 


226 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


path of those he knew — was a necessity. Rushing 
back, he sought the rocky road leading from Bar 
Harbor to Cromwell’s Harbor. Many were moving 
there, but not one face or voice was familiar. Ever 
forming and dissolving, snow-white waves, like flocks 
of sheep, sought to clamber over the rocks ; but, foot- 
ing lost, slipped back, frothing, moaning, into the sea. 
Basil, too excited to rest, strode to and fro, gazing 
over the tossing, moonlit water. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


AFTER THE GALE 



IHE morning after the gale the sunlight was 


_L glorious, the azure of the sky vivid, and the waves 
joyous, which in snowy jets of foam leaped into the 
embrace of the grand old evergreens drooping along 
the shore. The vast expanse of the Atlantic was 
one beauteous scene of forming and dissolving blue- 
green billows crested with silver. Seaweed — crim- 
son, orange, purple, and blue, intertwined with kelp 
and sea-grass and frosted with gleaming little shells — 
lay on the sand or clung to the rocks and cliffs where 
wind and wave had tossed it. 

“‘Nature is in glorious. health — sunshine in her 
eyes, light fantastic cloud-images passing through her 
brain, her breath coming and going iu soft breezes 
perfumed with the scents of meadows and wild flow- 
ers ; and her green robe shining in the motions of her 
gladness,’ ” quoted Miss Patty blithely. “ On the shore 
her breath is ‘ the mingled salt and balm of the trans- 
parent air.’ ” 

Such an exultant, singing, shining morning ! Smiling 
faces were seen on every side, and many were long- 
ing to be out on the bay, or down on the towpath, 
or up on the cliffs overlooking Schooner and Great 
Head. 

Jack and Arthur Carroll, elate and eager to be in a 


227 


228 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


sailboat careening over the sea, had already gratified 
their desire and were passing Bay view Cottage, where 
they looked in vain for Helen Armitage on the broad 
veranda. 

Why did you not bring your cousin. Jack? ” 

“ I did invite her and the little Russian ; but they 
were going somewhere with the De Rosamberts and 
Count Alexis. I say, Carroll, suppose we run out be- 
yond Egg Rock Lighthouse and see the codfishing.” 

“I am ready ! What would New Orleanists say to 
such a morning in their tropical heat and the steam 
from their marsh lands ? ” 

“And what would Mount Deserters say to their 
balmy air and luscious fruits in winter, when here they 
are thigh-deep in snow, and gales are raving along the 
coast? Halloo ! ” cried Jack, as he nearly ran down a 
canoe in which sat an Indian boy and girl, merrily 
paddling. 

“ You two infants have no business out here ! ” he 
said savagely. “ Go up the bay to Bar Harbor, or 
your encampment, just as fast as you can.” 

The boy and girl laughed and chattered a remon- 
strance in their own tongue, but prepared to obey. 

“I’ll give you this, if you’ll only go ! ” said Jack, 
tossing some silver coins into the canoe. It was 
speedily headed for the Indian village, and brimful of 
pride and joy the smiling, dusky faces vanished on 
their way. 

“ Cousin Constance must christen that small Indian 
she has captured,” said Carroll. 

Jack laughed. 


AFTER THE GALE. 


229 


“I told my cousin Nelly — Halloo! more sur- 
prises! What has Olga ? ” 

The child clasped a beautiful Pomeranian, whose 
snowy fur glistened in the sunlight. Its deerlike eyes, 
short, erect, pointed ears, full ruff, long plume curling 
over its left hip, fringed paws, and delicate feet pro- 
claimed it a pure specimen of that charming breed. 

“O neighbor! Rustoff has come ! ” 

“So I perceive,” said Jack, more coolly than he 
felt. “Where did he come from?” 

“ From Russia. He made the voyage with us.” 

“ Where has Rustoff been hidden since you have 
been in Bar Harbor ? ” 

“In Boston. I was under a solemn promise to 
papa not to mention or beseech for him. But I have 
missed him ! Ah ! ” leaning her face tenderly against 
the snowy head. 

“ Why then is he here now?” 

“ My good behavior ” — 

“ Humph !” retorted Jack teasingly. 

“There you go!” returned Olga. “You’ll never 
believe that I ” — 

But the boats had glided apart and she left her 
sentence unfinished. 

“The Pomeranian must have arrived after I left 
Bayview with you last evening, Carroll,” said Jack, 
longing for another glimpse of the beautiful, spirited 
creature. 

“ Olga ! ” he called. But the Sea Gull had receded 
too far over the blue water for his voice to reach her. 

Rustoff’s mistress was at the moment watching a 


230 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


pretty gull preparing to fish. It took countless 
curves, then, watching its chance with unerring eye, 
swept low above the water. A sudden dive, and it 
soared up from the clear waves, triumphantly bearing 
a mackerel shining in its green and gold. 

“ Look ! look, Rustoff ! The sea gull is flying off 
with that beautiful fish ! You have seen what Vassili 
and Dimitri have never seen.” 

The Pomeranian had reached his paradise on regain- 
ing his mistress. All other facts were as nothing. Un- 
der that silvery fiir beat a heart that, after the manner 
of his race, knew but one deep and lifelong devotion. 

The party were on their way to the Anemone Cave, 
where the tide permitted entrance at that hour. The 
night before how the wind-lashed surf had leaped up 
through Spouting Horn many feet above the tallest 
trees on the cliff ! Now all was calm, a gentle surge 
caressing the wild flowers blooming in thickets on the 
bank. How had they lived through that mad frolic of 
wind and wave? Yet there they were, smiling and 
blooming, serene as the morning air. 

“ Oh ! look at those bowlders scattered along the 
beach by the cave ! Why cannot we have our lunch- 
eon there ? ” asked Meta. 

“ And see those exquisite white birches on that 
grassy bank above the cave ; and that tall crag that 
resembles the towers of some of our old French 
chateaux !” exclaimed Gudule. “ Only in France ivy, 
not lichen, makes them green and beautiful.” 

Leaving the Sea Gull, they clambered over the 
rocks and up the beach to enter the fairy cave that 



SPOUTING HORN 

at Schooner Head. 





AFTEB THE GALE, 


231 


Count Viazemski and Olga then saw for the first 
time. 

The floor of the rock-pool was radiant with lovely 
hued anemones, as was every cleft, clearly seen in the 
golden-green light flooding the huge cavern. 

“ How did they like the roar of the wind and the 
foaming waves last night? ” asked Olga of Rustoff as 
she stood within its great, framing arch to gaze out at 
the beautiful picture of sapphire sea and sky. 

“ O Rustoff ! what a first day this is for thee ! ” 
watching him leap from rock to rock. “ See the 
sides of the cave — they are such a soft, deep red, 
streaked with many colors. Oh, look ! is n’t that just 
like lacework — all points and meshes ! That was 
done by the sea. And in this sunny corner are the 
blue and crimson starfish.” 

Rustoff barked rapturously, thus expressing the 
joy of his heart at reunion with his beloved mistress ; 
but the Anemone Cave did not charm him as 
it did her. He rolled over and over on the smooth 
pebbles and would not turn his beautiful eyes in 
the direction in which his mistress enthusiastically 
pointed. But he came bounding to be caressed 
and to quench his thirst when she knelt by one of the 
shining rivulets of icy water tinkling down from a 
fairy spring, which flowed crystal clear, in the shadow 
of the firs above the sea, away up where the arbutus 
had scented the air and where now graceful ferns and 
wild roses were growing together in loving amity. 

“ Oh, what joy to be at Mount Desert, and to have 
papa and Rustoff to see it all with me ! ” cried Olga. 


232 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Oh ! there are harebells ! ” as Monsieur de Rosam- 
bert, who had climbed up the height above the cave, 
came down with an azure bunch which he gave to 
Hester. 

“ Before leaving Mount Desert, I shall gather a 
root with its native soil and carry it across the sea, 
hoping it will grow in France for me.” 

No one heard this hope save Hester, and she, uncon- 
scious of the memory these flowers would always possess 
for her friend, smiled and said she thought, if care- 
fully guarded, they might bear the sea voyage bravely. 

“I” — but what Henri de Rosambert would have 
eagerly responded was unuttered ; for Gudule and 
Count Viazemski were approaching, and his oppor- 
tunity was gone. 

As they entered Bar Harbor, Basil Wilmerding was 
seen standing on the wharf. Hester exclaimed joy- 
fully, and her brother clasped her hand, saying that 
his grandfather was more comfortable. 

But it was Mademoiselle de Rosambert he had come 
to seek. Inexplicably to himself, yet with a very de- 
cided intention of finding her, he had walked over from 
Ullescliffe. His varied moods interested Gudule, so 
that when he olfered himself as her escort down the 
towpath she did not decline. 

“I am very restless to-day,” he began frankly, 
“ and your influence is calming. My coming to you is 
perfectly selfish. You cannot care to hear me talk ; 
but will you talk to me?” 

“ On what theme?” asked Gudule, smiling. 

“ I cannot read, write, or sit still this morning. 


AFTER THE GALE, 


233 


Why are you always so calm ? Are you really calm — 
undisturbed ? ” 

“ Just now I am.” 

‘‘But you do have moments of unrest, and there- 
fore can sympathize with me. Your brother is never 
untranquil ? ” 

“I am not sure ; but he can control moods, and the 
effort brings him straight back to calm and sunshine. 

I believe it is very unfortunate to think much of one’s 
self.” 

“But if you have done — I mean, if you are 
so constituted that self is a very disagreeable com- 
panion ” — 

“Find some one to work for — to think of; some . 
one who really needs you. Oh, there are so many ! I 
feel often as if I ought to go straight back to France ! 

I am sure I have had a sufficient holiday. But my 
dear brother is only now beginning to gain strength. 

1 try to reassure myself that to remain in this beauti- 
ful Mount Desert for his sake is not selfish.” 

‘ ‘ Certainly not ! Especially when there are so 
many suffering ones around you.” 

(xiidule glanced at her companion, surprised and 
touched by the evidence he bore of mental disquietude. 

“ It is not sorrow” — she began; then, much con- 
fused at having spoken her thought, she turned her 
face toward the sea. 

“ What is ‘ not sorrow ’ ? ” asked Basil. 

“Forgive me for understanding that you are in 
trouble,” instantly responded Gudule with her usual 
candor. 


234 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


“ I am only too glad you should know it!” cried 
Basil. “From the first moment I saw you I was 
sure — One has intuitive perceptions concerning 
persons, you know.” 

“ Then may I speak frankly?” 

“ As frankly as you choose.” 

“You are restless from anxiety ; but sorrow has not 
touched you. You have never known sorrow — or not 
lately.” 

“ Not since my mother died.” 

“Ah, forgive me! No grief can surpass that,” 
answered Gudule, compassionately. 

Basil, struggling amid many harassing memories, 
was silent for a second. 

“ How strange that you should have read my face 
so correctly ! ” he said presently. “It is anxiety — not 
sorrow — that now distracts me.” 

“ If you confessed the secret of disquietude, might 
not that calm the restlessness ? ” 

“ Yes ; if I dared talk it over. But there is no one 
— not even you ! ” he added impulsively. 

“ But your sister ” — 

‘ ‘ Hester ! She would be grieved and horrified be- 
yond expression.” 

“ Grieved she might be ; but not horrified. It seems 
to me that to shrink from another for any act of his 
is to convict one’s self of narrowness both of heart and 
mind. Self-knowledge should at least impart sympa- 
thy and a charitable judgment.” 

‘ ‘ I knew you would say that ! Therefore I was drawn 
to seek you. Your censure would not be bitter and 
sharp — even though you might disapprove.” 


AFTER THE GALE, 


236 


“ If you cannot remove anxiety by confession, then 
accept it. Shrinking from mental pain increases its 
weight fourfold. You allow me to say this — the 
truth — to you ?” 

“ I not only allow it, but I thank you. By a wild, 
reckless act I have brought on myself all this burden. 
1 cannot undo the deed, nor can I confess it. I must 
accept and bear what I have wrought.” 

“ You are entirely sure you cannot undo it?” 

“ Quite sure.” 

They sat down on a rock. Gudule, very sorry for 
her companion, was silent ; and Basil, touched by her 
sympathy, was also speechless. 

All the gracious day was singing and shining around 
them. Children’s merry voices rang up from the shore. 
Friends, in groups of two or three, were walking, or 
sitting on the rocks. The blue mirror of the sea was 
still gay with the white sails of fishing craft gliding 
down the bay. 

Basil spoke abruptly : “ According to your advice — 
and because it is yours — I shall accept this torturing 
anxiety as the reaping due my sowing. It is my fate.” 

“ God is above every fate,” said Gudule. 

“But you believe we reap what we sow?” 

“Certainly. But there is repentance and forgive- 
ness for even an evil sowing.” 

“ Man cannot forgive or forget.” 

“ That is the joy of possessing a heavenly Father 
who can do both, and heal us while forgiving,” 
responded Gudule brokenly, her heart melting with pity 
for the poor, white, stricken face at her side. 


236 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“You are one of his good angels!” cried Basil. 
“Do you know you give me faith and courage to be- 
lieve in God? If you, a mortal, can be so compas- 
sionate in your judgments, how much more tender 
must He be who is the source of all this gentle good- 
ness in you ! I have led a wild, reckless life. I have 
wasted my property and wrecked poor Hester’s. I 
wish you to know me as I am. Then, if you can still 
pity me, I shall believe that, far away in the future, 
there may be divine forgiveness even for me.” 

“ Not ‘ far away in the future,’ but now.” 

Basil shook his head. 

“ There must be expiation and restitution first. Do 
you care to know that at last I am really penitent? 
1 was angry, distracted — anything but penitent ! Now 
I am sorry ; and I only wish I owned as blameless a 
conscience as I know you possess.” 

“ Ah, I am not blameless.” 

“ Compared with me, you are as unsullied as snow I 
Do not contradict me. It does me good to know that 
you, noble and true, can yet pity me. You have 
helped me. Mademoiselle de Rosambert.” 

Gudule’s eyes were brimming with tears and she 
could not speak. 

For another half hour they loitered by the sea ; 
then Basil accompanied her to her hotel, return- 
ing to Ullescliffe with much of his unrest banished, 
though far from being at ease in his grandfather’s 
presence. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


ABOVE THE NAIAD S POOL, 



IHE day of all days on which to enjoy mountain 


_L scenery is when the mighty hills are dappled 
with sunshine and shade. A lovely, luminous ripple 
plays upon their sides and flickers airily down the deep 
and tranquil gorges. The valleys smile in this sweet 
and sudden radiance, or dream in the soft, trans- 
parent shadow that follows the illumination. 

On such a day, the friends of Miss Patty drove 
along the Schooner Head road, with the intention of 
ascending Newport Mountain on the side nearest Bar 
Harbor. A mile from the town they left the main 
road to enter a shady forest path. 

There the carriages were dismissed ; and Arthur 
Carroll and Jack Bolton, who knew every inch of the 
way, led their friends down the path toward an ex- 
quisite little crystal-clear pool. This they must cross 
on substantial stepping-stones before arriving at the 
base of the mountain. Sweet was the stillness, piny 
the fragrance of the embowered spot where golden 
light and woodland shadows played bewitchingly. 

Olga sprang over the stones, closely accompanied 
by Rustoff, his joyous bark echoing his mistress’ rap- 
ture in the scene. Ascending the mountain from the 
other side, by Otter Creek, they had lost this pretty 
scene. 


237 


238 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ It is as I have felt again and again,” exclaimed 
Hester ; “all around us are such lovely pictures which 
we lose in spite of ourselves. And it will always 
be so ! ” 

“ But we are, nevertheless, finding these nooks con- 
stantly,” responded Henri de Rosambert. 

“ I am ashamed of my mood ! Let me be thankful 
for the joy of to-day and trust it will not be withheld 
on the morrow.” 

“ The Hester we knew has returned to us,” said 
Madame de Chavigni, smiling, and holding Zelma’s 
hand as Judith easily bore the child’s light weight up 
the path. The dusky hair, in which nestled a crimson 
ribbon, the white robe, the daintily shod feet, and 
cheeks the tint of a pomegranate, softly brightening 
the olive coloring of the face and its dark dreamy 
eyes, gave Hester another picture to remember and 
associate with that day long after the friends were 
separated. 

As Constance de Chavigni gazed tenderly on the 
child, the little creature responded with a smile most 
radiant and beautiful. 

“See, see!” cried Zelma, watching the squirrels 
leaping from branch to branch and tree to tree, or 
pausing to twinkle down upon her from some over- 
hanging bough. “Hark!” she exclaimed again, as 
the note of the partridge struck her quick ear ; while 
Rustoff’s gay bark sounded away up the path accom- 
panied by Olga’s merry peals of laughter. 

As she gazed on the well-worn road curving up 
through a rich growth of overarching trees, Hester 


ABOVE THE NAIAHS POOL. 


239 


thought what a pretty little poem might be written on 
the many footsteps that had gone, and were to come, 
over the path she was then following. 

“There will be no one happier than I, in spite 
of hindering causes,” said she, after expressing her 
thought to Henri de Rosambert. 

“Ah, I am glad of that! ” he responded eagerly. 
“ You do not know how I hope your life will be rich 
with blessings. You can suffer as keenly as you 
enjoy. But if trials come, oh, remember they are a 
proof of God’s love, who can bear to send grief 
when we need it. We, so weak in our affection, would 
only give sunshine ; but he sends the necessary shad- 
ows, which are as enriching as the light.” 

“ Can that be possible?” 

“I know it; both from my own experience and 
the experience of my friends. Nature proves this 
clearly as do our lives. An English friend gave me 
a copy of Keble. Listen an instant to one of his 
thoughts : — 

None of all the wreaths ye prize 
But was nursed by weeping skies. 

Keen March winds, soft April showers, 

Braced the roots, embalmed the flowers. 

So, if e’er that second spring 
Her green robe o’er thee shall fling. 

Stern self-mastery, tearful prayer 
Must the way of bliss prepare. 

How else should earth’s flowerets prove 
Meet for those pure crowns above? 

Hester mused. In her young life the only pain 
she had known had been inflicted by those who were 
indifferent. Thus associated, the results had been 


240 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


hardening, embittering. But the lines of Keble gave 
another interpretation to the trials ordained for us. 
Who could doubt the love of Madame de Chavigni for 
Zelma? Yet Hester knew that, deeply as she would 
grieve to bring tears to the child’s eyes or a quiver 
to the sensitive little mouth, she would not hesitate 
to reprove her, if thus alone she could save her charge 
from a deeper sorrow. 

The forest now became more and more open, the 
larger growths yielding to small pines as the friends 
emerged into the full sunlight. 

“Follow me!” shouted Jack Bolton, “or you will 
easily miss the path and plunge down into a ravine 
hidden by foliage. It was here Talbot and I started 
a deer last summer. They love this spot — the royal 
creatures ! ” 

Turning southward, they had soon but a ledge 
between them and the summit. 

“ Oh, I see Green Mountain House peeping over 
Dry Mountain ! ” cried Helen. 

“ Yes ; and there are the rocks with the pole in the 
center!” exclaimed Meta. “Jack, Arthur, and Olga 
are already on the summit. Give me your hand, 
Gudule.” 

A sharp, delightful rush and scramble and they had 
gained the top of Newport Mountain ! 

The precipices on the western and eastern sides of 
Newport are so steep that one is deceived in their 
height above the sea. In the rarefied air the various 
points, islands, and lighthouses seem close to the 
mountain. 


ABOVE THE NAIAHS POOL. 


241 


“Look up Frenchman’s Bay to Sorrento, Olga!” 
cried Jack. “ How many sailboats can you count?” 

Olga and Rustoff sped in his direction, the former 
trying to number the boats while assuring the Pome- 
ranian that this was another grand day in his life ! 

“The lofty summit of Green Mountain hides 
Somes’ Sound and the western part of Mount Desert 
from our view,” said Miss Patty. “Come this way, 
Hester, and you will see Cranberry Island lying off in 
the south.” 

“ From this eastern side what a precipice overhangs 
Schooner Head road I ” 

“ Ah, I can never forget the awful accident the first 
year I visited Bar Harbor ! ” said Miss Patty. “Do 
not go so near that edge, my dear Hester ! It was 
just there the young girl fell over the precipice ! ” 

Henri de Rosambert extended his hand involuntarily. 

Hester smiled and obeyed the request of her old 
friend by stepping back from the edge of the cliff, 
from which the grand view of Schooner Head jutting 
out into the sky and sea so fascinated her. 

“ You must all come to the beautiful little pond I ” 
shouted Jack. “ It is on the southern side of the 
ridge, lower down, full of black bass and encircled 
by pretty vrooded slopes.” 

Laughing and talking. Miss Patty’s party allowed 
Jack to pilot the way. 

There luncheon was served, while Arthur and Jack, 
eager to fish, turned their backs on the fine collation. 

Olga, excessively indignant, expostulated in vain. 

“ You are both naughty neighbors ! ” she cried. 


242 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ I can’t bear to see those bass flapping in the basket ! 
How pretty they are with the long, black lines on their 
silvery sides ! Oh, do stop fishing and do as you would 
be done by.” 

“ You ’ll eat them to-morrow morning.” 

Indeed ! I ’ll never eat a fish I ’ve seen caught ; 
you ought to know that by this time ! ” cried Olga 
furiously. 

“ Olga ! ” The low, clear tones of Count Alexis’ 
voice checked his little daughter’s wrath. She bowed 
her head over Rustoff’s silver collar marked with three 
small gold letters — “ R. D. V.” 

Jack, furtively watchir^ her, whispered a few words 
to Arthur, and then both put up their fishing tackle, 
after tumbling the bass back into the pond. 

Up jumped Olga, all smiles and animation. “ Now 
come to your luncheon, neighbors ! I ’ll give you 
everything you like out of those fine, large baskets.” 

“ It ’s a shame to mar a pleasure party,” said Jack, 
frankly. “ When Carroll and I wish to fish, we ’ll go 
alone.” 

“ If neighbors must fish, they had better be alone ! ” 
rejoined Olga. 

“ Are we friends once more?” asked Jack. 

“ Yes,” responded Olga, beaming and happy, min- 
istering to those who had proved their desire to 
please her. 

Jack and Arthur sought to wile Rustoff from fol- 
lowing his mistress’ steps ; but the loyal heart be- 
neath that snowy fur could not be enticed even for 
a moment. 


ABOVE THE NAIADES POOL. 


243 


Half an hour later, Hester, established in a shel- 
tered nook on a safe portion of the ledge overlooking 
the Atlantic, was laughing while she tried to teach 
Zelma and Olga, at whose feet lay Riistoff, to repeat 
a few lines she had just remembered. The efforts of 
the former were, of course, an utter failure ; but the 
little Russian, who never succumbed to a difficult}^ 
finally recited her lesson with great triumph and 
delight. 

The other friends were grouped according to the 
fancy of the moment — talking or silent. Henri de 
Rosambert, standing near Hester and the children, 
was much amused, and also committed the quaint 
old lines : — 

On Tintock’s tap there is a mist, 

And in the mist there is a kist, 

And in the kist there is a cap ; 

Tak’ up the cap and sup the drap, 

And set the cap on Tintock’s tap! 

“ ‘ Cap’ ?” asked Olga. 

“ That is the Scotch for cup ; and ‘ kist ’ means a 
chest.” 

“ Thank you ! Now I ’ll run and see if my neigh- 
bor can learn it,” cried Olga, dancing away with 
Rustoff, while Zelma was brought back to Madame de 
Chavigui by Judith. 

“There is something hidden in your little quaint 
verse. Miss Wilmerding, as there was in the story 
I told Olga in Duck Brook Glen,” said Henri de 
Rosambert. 

“ It means a great deal that is most beautiful,” she 
answered. “ Would you really care to hear what Dr. 


244 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


John Brown thinks of it? His thoughts have upheld 
and inspirited me often.’’ 

“ I care exceedingly to hear.” 

“ I believe I can remember his very words,” said 
Hester : — 

To gain what is really truth, you must climb some Tintock Hill 
of difficulty you see from afar; and you must mainly climb alone. 
You start for your Tintock with an object — to get into the mist 
and get the drop— and you do this chiefly because you have the 
truth-hunting instinct. You may have many a fall, many a false 
step. You may lose your temper; but the finding it makes you 
keep it the better next time. You become more patient and yet 
more eager ; and not infrequently you come to a standstill and have 
to turn for your life. 

Also, you are forever mistaking the top ; when, behold ! there 
it is farther off than ever, and you may have to humble yourself 
in a hidden valley before reascending. So on you go with face to 
the sky, gazing far away athwart the widening horizon. The 
world below lessens, coming up to you as a whole, with its just 
proportions and relations. 

Every effort is a victory and a joy — taking you nearer the 
clouds and heavens, and farther from the world below. You may 
note that the more you move up toward the pure blue depths of 
the sky, the farther ofif, the more withdrawn into its own clear 
infinity does it seem. 

As you reach the upper height, you find it less difficult, less 
steep than lower down ; often so level that you can run off in an 
ecstasy to the crowning cairn, to the sacred mist, within whose 
cloudy shrine rests the unknown, blessed secret — some great truth 
of God and of your own soul : something that is not to be gotten 
for gold or toil down on the plain, but may be taken here; some- 
thing that no man can give or take away; something that you 
must work for and learn yourself; and which, once yours, is safe 
beyond the chances and changes of time. 

You enter that luminous cloud, stooping as a little child — as 
indeed all the best kingdoms are entered— and pressing on you 
come in the shadowy light of the long-dreamt-of ark — the chest. 
It is shut, it is locked ; but behold ! you possess the key. That 


ABOVE THE NAIAD'S POOL. 


245 


key is the love of truth. With it a little child may open it, and 
often does — it goes so sweetly, so with a will. 

You lift the lid; you are all alone; the cloud is all around you 
with a tender light of its own, shutting out the outer world, filling 
you with joy — as if alone, and yet not alone. You see the cup 
within, and in it the one crystalline drop — glowing, tremulous, as 
if alive. You take up the cup, you reverently sup the drop; it 
enters into and becomes the essence of yourself. In humble grati- 
tude and love you gently replace the cup. It will gather again — 
it is forever gathering. No man, woman, or child ever opened 
that chest and found no drop in the cup. It might not be the very 
drop expected; it will serve their purpose none the worse — often 
much better. 

And now, bending down, you shut the lid that you hear lock- 
ing itself afresh against all but the sacred key. You leave the now 
hallowed mist. You look out on the old familiar world again 
that looks both new and old; you descend, throwing the light 
of the present on the past ; and past and present set against the 
boundless future. 

But don’t think your own hand has gotten you the victory; 
and that you had no unseen, and it may be unfelt and unac- 
knowledged, hand guiding you up the hill. It is God’s doing that 
you are led to the right hill and the right path ; for there are other 
Tintocks with other kists and other drops. Work out, therefore, 
your own knowledge with fear and trembling, for it is God who 
worketh in you both to will and to do, and to know his good pleas- 
ure. There is no explaining and no disbelieving this. 

“ Thank you ! thank you ! The explanation of the 
verse is very beautiful ; and true as beautiful. I ’ll 
remember it always, in far-away France, Mademoiselle 
Wilmerding. ‘ It is God’s doing that you are led to 
the right hill and the right path ; for there are other 
Tintocks, with other kists and other drops ’ of dew,” 
quoted Henri de Rosambert. 

He was silent several seconds, then turned to his 
companion : — 

“May I tell you? Do you remember the day I 


24G 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


found you on the shore and brought you back to Bar 
Harbor?” 

“Yes.” 

“You remember we saw our first harebells that day 
growing in a crevice of the rocky archway. As I 
gazed at them I felt that I had awakened to your 
presence and influence as I fancied the rock must 
have awakened and quivered with happiness in the new 
and sweet delight of every delicate shadow cast on it 
by the lovely, airy flowers. I love you, Hester. Will 
you return with me to France as my wife, to share my 
life and my work?” 

Hester was silent foV some moments ; then she 
spoke simply and frankly : — 

“You are my kind friend; I have not thought of 
you in any other way. To share your life and your 
noble work — how can I say yes when ” — 

“Hester! Hester!” called Miss Patty, coming 
across the ridge accompanied by Madame de Chavigni, 
Gudule, and Count Alexis. “ I am so sorry ; but you 
must go at once. Ah, do not be frightened.” 

“What is it?” breathlessly asked Hester, spring- 
ing to her feet and opening the note from Dr. Dun- 
can that Miss Patty handed her. It contained an 
entreaty to come at once to Ullescliffe. Basil had 
been thrown from his horse. The doctor hoped he 
was not seriously injured ; but he asked for his sis- 
ter incessantly. Mr. Harcourt begged her to come 
immediately. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


ULLESCLIFFE 



IHE descent of Newport Mountain was ac- 


JL complished rapidly. All were full of sympa- 
thy for Hester, whose pale face and self-control so 
appealed to them. She, fearing some portion of the 
truth had been withheld, could not fly fast enough to 
her brother’s side. Poor Basil ! Her heart melted 
over him. 

Accompanied by Miss Patty, Henri de Rosambert, 
and Count Alexis, she reached Ullescliffe in the 
shortest possible time, to find Basil unconscious and 
her grandfather in painful agitation. The presence 
of Count Alexis soothed him; and Hester was free 
to seek her brother at once, while the nurse and Dr. 
Duncan conferred a few moments apart. 

In another hour Basil had lost the semblance of 
death. Opening his eyes he called for his sister, who, 
tenderly responding, clasped his hand in hers. 

“ That is all I want,” he murmured, at last con- 
tent because the one being who breathed of home and 
early days was with him. 

There was little to do for Basil ; but a nurse was in 
attendance to relieve Hester and to follow carefully 
the doctor’s directions. For days he remained pros- 
trate, suffering intensely in back and head, but un- 
wontedly patient and tranquil. 


247 


248 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


“ I needed just this, Hester,” he said. “ Body and 
mind were exhausted, yet unable to rest an instant. 
Now I must lie still and some calm may come to me 
if 1 do not resist it. What did Mademoiselle de 
Rosambert say?” 

“Nothing; but she sent this large, delicious bunch 
of pale pink tea roses to-day by her brother when he 
came to inquire.” 

“ How kind ! One likes to be remembered. I have 
been inattentive to the suffering ; but I shall be less 
remiss in future. When do the De Rosamberts return 
to France ? ” 

“ In a few weeks.” ^ 

“ Shall 3"ou not miss them?” 

“ Exceedingly ! ” 

“O Hester! if I only now possessed what I so 
foolishly, recklessly squandered, what a happy future 
would be ours! I have a daydream, but — Does 
grandfather ever mention me?” 

“Not often ; but he feels more kindly, I am sure.” 

“ Why are you sure ? ” 

“His face expresses interest and his voice sym- 
pathy.” 

“ Will he do the only right and just thing for me?” 
eagerly asked Basil. 

“Ah, that is another matter.” 

“Then he has not really repented, in spite of what 
he said to Count Alexis!” and Basil proceeded to 
narrate the conversation at the Russian gentleman’s 
first visit. 

“How do you know, Basil, that to repent truly is 




ULLESCLIFFE, 


249 


to reform?” asked Hester, joyful at this indication of 
a new view of life in her brother. 

“I have thought thus lately, more and more con- 
vinced that it is the only proof of earnestness a man 
can give.” 

“ O dear Basil ! your words rejoice me.” 

“But do not yet build on my words, Hester,” he 
answered affectionately. “ I may know far better 
than I have the desire or will to perform. Are you 
great friends with Mademoiselle de Rosambert?” 

“We are good friends.” 

“ Don’t you love her ? ” 

“ Not yet,” answered Hester, smiling. 

“ How slow you women are ! When you so rarely 
meet an}^ one as lovely in mind, heart, and face as 
she, yet you hesitate ! Of course you know she is 
faultless? ” 

“I can readily believe that — so far as any human 
being can be faultless.” 

“ I had a conversation with her the day you returned 
from the Anemone Cave. Don’t you remember we 
walked down the towpath?” 

“Yes.” 

“Be grateful to her, Hester. She has comforted 
me more than any one — save you and our dear 
mother.” 

“Gudule?” 

“Yes; Gudule. What a pretty name! I was in 
a desperate state that day. She calmed and steadied 
me, giving me hope and courage, besides showing 
me the heart of a noble woman in the way she 


260 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


commented on what I had impulsively confided to 
her kindness.” 

“ Indeed, indeed I am most grateful.” 

“I was sure you would be!” responded he, much 
gratified, and relapsing into silence that he might 
think of Gudule undisturbed. 

“Please place her flowers where I can see and 
inhale them,” said Basil as Hester rose in obedience 
to her grandfather’s summons. 

“ Now I shall think and sleep. Do not leave him 
if he desires you^to remain. I am very comfortable.” 

Away went Hester, marveling for the hundredth 
time at finding herself where she had never dreamed 
of being. There was no doubt as to Mr. Har- 
court’s intense enjoyment of her presence. His face 
brightened and he extended his hand eagerly, affec- 
tionately. 

“Thus my little Lucy used to come in smiling to 
me long ago,” he said, gazing tenderly at his grand- 
daughter’s lovely face, so like her mother’s, whose 
prayer was at last answered in the reconciliation of 
to-day. “ On your first visit to Ullescliffe, Hester, 
you said you did not care for my wealth, but you did 
care for my affection. The indignant tones of your 
young, fresh, honest voice rang in my ears for weeks, 
and the remembrance of your wounded heart, shown 
in your tearful eyes, flushed cheeks, and quivering 
lips, was ever before me. When I am gone, Hester, 
you will find I have loved you — for my Lucy’s sake 
— more than you dreamed, my child.” 

Hester, touched and pained by the old man’s 


ULLESCLIFFE. 


251 


emotion, could respond only by the expression of 
her face. 

“ If I could recover, would you go away — live with 
me — be as my Lucy was, Hester?” eagerly cried he. 

“ Yes, grandfather. And Basil ” — 

“Don’t mention him! He is his father’s son! 
Once he wrecked all you possessed ; he would do it 
again. I know him — know him ! ” fiercely exclaimed 
Mr. Harcourt, the veins on his forehead swelling with 
bitter resentment. 

“O grandfather, Basil has changed in much! He 
would never repeat the past — never ! ” 

“ I would not trust him ! Let us speak of some 
pleasanter theme.” 

Distressed and indignant, Hester was silent 

“Now there’s a cloud over my sunshine!” ex- 
claimed the old man. “I am as sensitive to mental 
as to atmospheric changes.” 

Hester smiled, melting into compassion in spite of 
herself at his look and tone. 

“ Oh, to be free, Hester, from this bondage of 
feebleness and pain! It seems to me the rarest, 
sweetest word in the English language — freedom ! 
I was in Saint Petersburg, February 19, 1861, when 
Czar Alexander II issued his Proclamation of Freedom 
to twenty-two millions of serfs. Never can I forget 
that hour and my exultation in that deliverance ! It 
still imparts an enthusiasm to tired brain and heart 
that events of to-day do not give.” 

Mr. Harcourt’s face was radiant as he leaned back 
in his chair. 


252 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


“Ah, it was a good deed — the noblest deed, 
Hester ! ” 

“Oh, tell me, grandfather! Tell me all you can 
remember.’' 

“All? That would weary you, my child. So 
quietly had the czar bestowed his infinite blessing 
that the Russian serfs were liberated before they were 
aware. It was on a Sunday morning. The sky was 
a stainless azure ; the air was so dry and cold that the 
snow crackled beneath the feet. I was staying with 
Count Arminioff and was accompanying him that 
morning to the Cathedral of Saint Isaac. But the 
streets were so densely thronged and his carriage was 
forced to pause so constantly, that we at last de- 
scended into the midst of the heart-stirring scene. 

“Upon every wall of Saint Petersburg, upon the 
humblest fences as on the most splendid palaces, 
appeared immense white placards bearing the czar’s 
decree of freedom to his serfs. Thronging around 
these, those who could read read aloud to those who 
could not, the glorious tidings that in Russia there 
were no longer serfs, but men 1 ” 

“O grandfather, that is a day and scene worth 
remembering ! ” as the old man suddenly sat erect in 
his chair, his fine countenance flushed by the stirring 
memory. 

“ The pavement, the steps, and the square in which 
Saint Isaac’s stands were so crowded, that to enter 
by any one of its four doors seemed an impossibility ; 
but Count Arminioff was a favorite of the people, and 
little by little a path was made for us through the 


ULLESCLIFFE. 


253 


vast multitude and we were borne into the cathe- 
dral. Does Saint Isaac’s suggest a mental picture, 
Hester?” 

“No, grandfather. I know nothing of Russian 
churches.” 

The old man leaned back in his chair and spoke 
with closed eyes while memory restored the scene. 

“Gorgeous gloom was within Saint Isaac’s cathe- 
dral. Great lamps burn there night and day before 
the sacred pictures and illumine the rare and costly 
marbles, mosaics, and columns of malachite and lapis 
lazuli upholding the regal screen of gold and inwrought 
gems before the inmost shrine. So colossal is the 
architecture, so magnificent the proportions of the 
mighty dome, so brilliant the gilding, the tints of 
the frescoes, the polish of the marble pavement and 
the glorious beauty of the iconostasis concealing the 
sacred inner sanctuary, that one is dazzled and dumb 
before what man has wrought to manifest his reverence 
for the Deity. 

“ I recall distinctly the three lofty doors of the 
screen,” continued Mr. Harcourt, “ the central portal 
giving access to the sanctuary. All the jewels men- 
tioned in the Revelation of Saint John gleam in that 
glowing front of gold and silver — jasper, malachite, 
porphyry, and agate. Faces of the four evangelists, 
the Angel Gabriel, and the Virgin Mary are framed 
amid that richness.” 

Again Mr. Harcourt paused, while Hester waited 
eagerly. 

“ During the service that central door is opened to 


254 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


reveal the form of Christ with lifted hand in benedic- 
tion. There can be no more endearing or beautiful 
conception of that divine figure. It is life size, 
exquisitely painted on glass, and forms the mighty 
window at the back of the sanctuary. The form 
seems to fioat in the sky, its tender brilliancy of color 
contrasting wonderfully with the twilight reigning in 
the cathedral. 

“ It stirred me, Hester, and deepened the effect of 
the solemn occasion for which we were gathered — to 
praise God for his blessed gift of freedom through 
his servant the czar ! All around me were the rev- 
erent, ecstatic, blue-eyed, fair-haired Russians on 
their knees, silent as death, waiting for the reading 
of Alexander II’s proclamation that confirmed the 
liberty of twenty-two million Russian serfs. The 
people trembled, a murmur ran through the vast cathe- 
dral, heads bowed lower in prayer and praise, and I 
heard the fervent cry, ‘ Glory to our Saviour ! ’ Free 
Russia, before thanking and blessing their beloved 
czar, returned thanksgivings to God, who had made 
Alexander II their deliverer ! ” 

“ Oh, if I had been there ! ” cried Hester with tears 
of sympathy and delight. 

“Ah, that you had, my child ! All the years since, 
with their burdens of suffering and disappointment, 
have not dimmed that glorious hour that lives as 
freshly in my memory as though that nineteenth of 
February were only yesterday! What chants of 
praise floated through the cathedral ! As we emerged, 
thousands of peasants who had been unable to obtain 


ULLE8CLIFFE. 


255 


admittance cried to those who came down the steps 
of the four grand entrances : — 

“‘You heard it? You heard the priest read the 
proclamation of our czar ? ’ 

“ Being aflarmatively answered, they touched the 
snowy earth with their foreheads, blessing God and 
their father the czar.” 

‘ ‘ And you heard and saw it all ! O grandfather, 
how thankful you must be ! ” 

“ So glad was I, so exultant for the twenty -two 
million liberated Russians, that I cast gold right 
and left. The people blessed me. I have always 
desired the blessing of the poor, consecrated by 
Christ’s identification with them. Arminioff and I 
strode on to the Winter Palace, whither the multitude 
were flocking to behold the czar. Oh, the cry that rent 
the air when Alexander II appeared upon the balcony ! 
It rose from a million hearts. The crowd surged to 
and fro in their gladness, gratitude, and reverent tri- 
umph. They waved their hats and spread out their 
hands in benediction toward the beloved czar. I 
wept like a child ; and so did the vast crowd. Their 
loyal cheers were broken by sobs of thanksgiving.” 

Spent with emotion, Mr. Harcourt again sank back 
in his chair, motioning to Hester for silence. Long 
she sat by him, living over the thrilling scene, and 
more closely drawn to her grandfather than ever 
before. 

“ Hester ! ” 

“ Yes, dear grandfather.” 

“Repeat something — something suited to one so’ 


256 


AT 310UNT DESEBT. 


soon to pass to the eternal realities, ‘ through the 
grave and gate of death,’ where I too at last shall 
be free ! ” 

Hester repeated : — 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me! 

And may there be no moaning of the bar 
When I put out to sea : 

But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep, 

Too full for sound or foam. 

When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening -bell. 

And after that the dark! ' 

And may there be no sadness of farewell 
When I embark. 

For though from out our bourne of time and place 
The flood may bear me far, 

I hope to sec my Pilot face to face 
When I have crossed the bar. 

“ Amen ! ” murmured the old man, closing his eyes, 
while a faint smile illumined his pale features. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


A DILEMMA. 

A BOAT was passing Ullescliffe, rowed by Jack 
Bolton and Arthur Carroll, in which sat Helen 
Arrnitage, Olga, and Rustoff. 

“Poor Miss Hester! How weary she must be!” 
said Olga, glancing at the open windows of Mr. Har- 
court’s beautiful cottage. 

“ Tired, indeed ! ” exclaimed Jack, “shut up with 
that strange old man and stranger brother.” 

“ Will he die?” asked Olga in a whisper. 

“ Not he ! He is recovering fast. Count Alexis 
and Monsieur de Rosambert returned to Bayview with 
a very encouraging report. Of course it is only on 
Hester’s account that any one cares for Basil’s con- 
dition.” 

“ How can you say that, neighbor?” retorted Olga. 
“ Because I know, you intrepid little Russian ! ” 
Jack and Arthur pulled on steadily for another hour. 
“ Is n’t that a pretty cove, Nelly?” 

“Where, Jack?” 

“ Away to your right. The beach sparkles with 
shells, and holds in its curve a mermaiden’s blue 
mirror.” 

“Where? Oh, where?” cried Olga. 

“Sit down!” shouted Jack. “Do you wish to 
upset the boat ? ” 


267 


258 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Take us to that cove. Do, neighbor ! ’’ 

“As it is low tide and that cove is my especial 
property, it is there I am now going.” 

“ How is it your property? ” 

“ By right of discovery.” 

“ Is there a cave? ” 

“ A big one.” 

“ O Jack, is it where we read ” — 

“The same, Nelly. I have christened it ‘Helen's 
Bower.' ” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” 

Long, ribbed, rocky ledges extended far out into 
the sea. They were quite hidden at high tide, but at 
that hour they were bare, and the boat was run up be- 
tween them on the fine, white beach. In front, several 
yards from and above the shore, yawned the spacious, 
dry cavern, always a safe retreat and pleasant shelter 
from wind and sun and rain. 

Olga, who had often seen the elder members of the 
party carry books on their expeditions, had to-day 
brought one with her — a simply-written biography of 
the great Albrecht Diirer — over which she had been 
poring until the moment of starting. 

On a jutting ledge, with Rustoff at her side, she 
tried to continue her reading, but was distracted 
by the beauty of the scene — the crystal-clear cove, 
the tinted seaweeds, pretty shells, lilac and green 
mosses in the little pools where the shellfish were 
living happily and undisturbed. Over the radiant 
solitude of the sea swept the ships, with sails spread, 
seeking other shores. 


A DILEMMA. 


259 


“O Rustoff ! aren’t you glad you are here with 
me?” she asked her Pomerauiau, who, with snowy 
paws on her knee, was intently studying the dear 
and animated face of his beloved little mistress. He 
sought to tell her by the waving of his silvery plume 
that he enjoyed any spot on land or sea in her 
company. 

“ 1 must put away my book, Rustoff. This cove is 
too enchanting ! But first I ’ll tell you — for I wish 
you to know all I know — that Albrecht Diirer was a 
wonderful German painter who lived four hundred 
years ago. He had a little daughter Agnes, whom 
he loved as papa loves me. In his painting room, 
with Agnes by his side, he could forget his home 
thorn ; that was his wife. Oh, such a thorn ! She 
reminds me of Mademoiselle Prascovia, who taught 
me last year and at whom you never forgot to growl 
and bark ! In winter, when the birds flew to Albrecht 
Diirer’s windows for crumbs, Agnes, seeing how cold 
they were, sewed them little woolen coats, but they 
were never finished, for the silk thread had no knot ! 
Diirer could paint, but he could not teach his dear 
little Agnes how to make a knot ! ” 

Laughing, and jumping up from her ledge, Olga 
ran to her companions over the rocks and seaweed, 
Nelly, Jack, and Arthur were sketching. 

Olga watched their progress or glanced off at the 
Atlantic. “ Why cannot we stay all night? ” she sud- 
denly inquired. “ I wish to see the sun set, the moon 
rise, and, to-morrow, the sun come out of the sea.” 

“ How I wish we could ! ” answered Jack. “It is 


260 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


SO warm and the cavern is so dry at this season ; 
besides, the sea never reaches it — it is up too 
high.” 

“ Then can’t we, neighbor?” 

“ Certainly not, you reckless Russian ! Imagine, 
for one moment, the terror at Bayview. No one 
knows where we are.” 

Olga made no response. Presently she wandered 
back where the boat was beached. 

“ Rustoff, I wish to whisper something in your ear.” 

The dog responded by an intelligent glance and a 
wag of his tail. 

“ Now watch me! How I wish you could help!” 

Stepping up to the boat, his mistress took out an 
oar, then another and another — till the four had 
been adroitly carried and sent adrift on the sea. Away 
they floated, up and down on the tide, farther and 
farther. She and Rustoff watched the long thin blades 
recede beyond all chance of present recovery. She 
ran back to the sketchers. 

‘ ‘ Have you a large luncheon ? Where is the basket ? 
I am so hungry ! ” 

“ I put it in the shadow of that cliff,” answered 
Jack, springing up to bring it. 

The refreshments were abundant and delicious. 

“We still have more than enough for dinner and 
breakfast,” said Olga, surveying what remained. 

“ Dinner and breakfast ! We ’ll be far enough from 
here by that time,” said Jack. “ When we cross 
over, I ’ll give what remains to little Jemmie Felton 
who will be on the wharf.” 


A DILEMMA. 


261 


“ You ’ll be too hungry to think of little Jemmie 
Felton,” returned Olga, laughing. 

“ I never eat between luncheon and dinner, Olga. 
Pray sit down : I wish to sketch you and Rustoff.” 

Olga complied, and Nelly laid aside her pencil to 
read aloud to her companions. 

As the afternoon waned, Arthur Carroll went to 
prepare the boat for their return. 

“ Halloo, Bolton ! What has become of the oars?” 

“ They are where we left them.” 

“ They ’re gone.” 

Up jumped Jack to join Arthur Carroll. “ They 
could not have shipped themselves — they were left 
too securely.” 

Helen followed the lads. Olga and Rustoff re- 
mained on the ledge, the heart of the former beating 
faster than usual. 

Back rushed Jack. 

“ Olga, have you hidden the oars?” 

“ No.” 

“ Don’t you know where they are? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Where?” 

“ Floating back to Bar Harbor or out to sea.” 

“ You did not dare ” — 

Jack was speechless with anger. 

“Yes; I dared! I told you I wished to see the 
sun set, the moon rise, and the sun come up out of 
the sea.” 

“ And I as distinctly told you we could not stay ! ” 
thundered Jack. 


262 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


“ But I whispered to Rustoff that we could/^ 

Jack Bolton was so furious that he did not trust 
himself to speak. Carroll and Helen had returned. 

“ Olga ! ” said Helen, reproachfully. 

Carroll laughed. “ If the worst comes to the worst, 
we can stay in that big cave,” said he. 

“ We ’ll throw the two Russians in, you mean,” 
growled Jack. 

“ Don’t tease, Jack,” expostulated Nelly. “ Since 
the oars have floated away, let ’s make the best of our 
misfortune. We have a luncheon basket more than 
half full. The night will be dry and warm, and some 
one will assuredly come to look us up.” 

“No one will know where to look,” returned Jack 
in derision. “ What a mean thing to ship those oars 
simply to have her own will ! Just imagine, Helen, 
the panic over at Bar Harbor before they start to 
look for us ! That would be more sensible than try- 
ing to palliate the latest freak of that young Cos- 
sack.” 

Jack turned his back on both girls and strode to the 
boat. 

Olga, much excited, but never for a moment re- 
gretting she had shipped the oars into the sea, 
watched her companions, as speechless as Rustoff. 
Her father’s anxiety seemed never to have crossed 
her mind till Jack’s last remark and disappearance. 
She sprang to her feet, grieved and penitent. 

“ But, Nelly, he must know we are safe some- 
where ! Do tell me he will know ! Could his hair 
turn white from fear?” 


A DILEMMA. 


263 


“ His hair turn white ? ” quoth Jack savagely, return- 
ing from the boat; “ yes ; and his heart stop beating. 
Indeed he might fall down and die, thinking his only 
child was fathoms deep in the sea ! I have heard of 
such cases ; they are very common.” 

“Oh, you wicked, wicked neighbor!” cried Olga 
with flashing eyes and mantling color. “ How dare 
you — dare you ! ” 

She burst into passionate tears and hid her face on 
Rustoff’s neck. 

“We ’ll have enough of your mad freak before we 
are through,” Jack continued in the same savage 
tone. “You’ll see ‘the sun set, the moon rise, 
and the sun come up out of the sea,’ you may be 
certain; but it won’t give you much joy. I’ll be 
bound ! All I care for is the anxiety at Bar Har- 
bor. So far as I am concerned, I would like to 
spend a week over here, if they only knew where 
we are.” 

Nelly, appalled by the situation, sat mute with her 
arm around Olga. A sea gull flew by. Oh, if she 
could bid it bear a message to Bar Harbor ! The sun 
was sloping toward the great blue Atlantic, sending 
long, slanting lines of golden fire across the waves. 
The dark clilfs were irradiated by the sunset’s splen- 
dor, and lofty, white cloud-mountains tinted rose and 
lilac gleamed in the west. How the white sails were 
drifting back to Bar Harbor, unmindful of the wistful 
gaze of Nelly and Olga ! 

“If papa were only. on this side,” whispered his 
mistress to Rustoff, “how happy I’d be! But with 


264 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


that tossing, sparkling blue sea between us, I ’m very, 
very unhappy.” 

“ And well you may be,” said Jack, who surmised 
the import of Olga’s murmur. “ I presume, at this 
blessed minute, our people are watching on the wharf, 
each one contributing something more terrifying than 
the last suggestion offered by the other ! ‘ The Little 

Master’ must have proposed and then helped you 
launch those big oars into the sea ! ” 

“ Who is the Little Master?” 

“ Have n’t you read Sintram?” 

“ No.” 

“ Your favorite Albrecht Diirer’s The Knight 
Death and Satan suggested the story of Sintram to 
Baron de la Motte Fouque. It surpasses most ser- 
mons in its power to arouse conscience and ” — Jack 
left his sentence unfinished. Leaning against the 
cliff, his face became clouded, his gaze indrawn. 

“The dead-lights are up!” thought Nelly, longing 
to know the thoughts that oppressed him and shut him 
away from her companionship. For weeks he had 
been so genial, so unlike the Jack she first knew at 
Mount Desert, that she had almost forgotten those 
early days of gloom. 

“ What is Diirer’s picture, Nelly?” asked Olga. 

“A mountain gorge lighted by the setting sun. 
Towering above the lonely ravine is seen the castle 
of Drontheim — the home of the noble Knight Sin- 
tram, who, fully armed, is riding through the gorge. 
Beneath his horse cowers his faithful hound terrified 
by his master’s two weird companions — one, a ghastly 


A DILEMMA. 


265 


figure, pallid and emaciated, from the neck of whose 
small gaunt steed hangs a bell emitting a ghostly 
chime. Walking erect and pursuing them is a hid- 
eous creature with the eyes of a fiend in the form of 
a wild boar. His gestures menace Sintram and his 
companion Death.” 

“What does the picture mean?” asked Olga, half 
fascinated, half terrified. 

“We are not sure what was in the mind of Albrecht 
Diirer ; but Baron Fouque saw in it a thrilling story 
of our strife through life with the Evil One who 
tempts us to our undoing. Death that closes the 
struggle and the divine grace that imparts to us 
strength to resist Satan are pictured in the prayers 
of the loyal Rolf, ever remembering and interceding 
for Sintram in the castle seen above the gloomy gorge.” 

“ Does the knight die there ? ” 

“ No ; his obedience and faith conquer the tempta- 
tions of the Little Master, who leaves him alone with 
Death. The latter, assuming a winning form, mur- 
murs, ‘ I shall not come to thee for many years ; but 
thou must not forget me meanwhile.’ Then he too 
disappears, leaving Sintram at the outlet of the gorge 
as dawn reddens in the sky.” 

“A boat! a boat!” cried Arthur Carroll. “It’s 
going by and is too far out to see us.” 

“ Let us shout ! ” cried Jack. 

But the prolonged cry did not reach the ears of 
those in the boat ; or not sufficiently to arrest them. 

The sun had set long ago. The full moon had 
risen and the Atlantic shimmered in the beauteous 


266 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


light that also bathed the mountains. Out on the 
sea the stately ships moved slowly, their sails white 
in the moonlight or dim in the shadow. 

“You ’ll have your wish, Olga,” said Jack. “ You ’ll 
see the dawn as surely as you have seen the sun set 
and the moon rise.” 

Olna, with her arm round Rustoff, bent toward 
Nelly : — 

“Was it the Little Master who made me ship 
those oars into the sea?” 

“ It was not the spirit of love, dear little Olga.” 

“I never thought of my neighbor: T mean, I did 
not let the oars float away to vex him.” 

“ In thinking only of one’s self there is always 
danger of harming or grieving others,” gently an- 
swered Nelly. 

The Sea Oull had just glided from Bar Harbor. 
Count Alexis, Henri de Rosambert, and Dick Tenby 
gazed anxiously over the radiant bay. As the hours 
passed Count Alexis became more and more distressed. 

“ It is almost midnight,” said he. 

A prolonged shout — another — and another rent 
the air ! 

“They’re found!” cried Dick Tenby. “I know 
where they are now ! ” 

One can imagine the greetings and the return to 
Bar Harbor with Jack’s boat brought back in the wake 
of the yacht. The count, with his little daughter 
folded in his arms, was too thankful then to utter one 


A DILEMMA. 


267 


word of condemnation or give a glance of dis- 
pleasure. 

Olga and Rustoff, sound asleep, reached the wharf 
where Mrs. Bolton, Meta, Miss Conway, Madame 
de Chavigni, and Gudule were gathered in anxious 
expectation. 

“‘All’s well that ends well,”’ said Count Alexis 
as he stepped into the carriage with Olga; “but ray 
little daughter goes no more to sea unless I am her 
companion ! Say good-night, Olga, and ask every 
one to forgive your thoughtless freak that made us all 
so unhappy.” 

“ Good-night — and — forgive ” — murmured the 
sleepy child, her head falling again on her father’s 
shoulder. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


“ SUNSET AND EVENING STAR.” 

WO days of fog suddenly eclipsed Mount Desert, 



JL blotting out the mountains, sea, and islands. 
Bar Harbor, encircled with an inpenetrable curtain, 
hastened to light all its wood fires, the gleaming 
flames and crackling logs imparting a cheer much 
needed. 

“How that child enjoys the warmth ! ” exclaimed 
Miss Patty, looking at Zelma crouched before the 
blaze, watching and smiling at the flames’ fantastic 
shapes and pretty hues. 

Madame de Chavigni patted the head resting against 
her knee. 

“What shall you christen her?” suddenly asked 
Miss Patty. 

“ I have not decided,” absently responded the 
Creole lady, forgetting the question as her thoughts 
again wandered far, far away to that summer on Last 
Island when she held in her arms her darling child, 
delighting in its lovely smiles and merry laughter. 

Miss Patty noticed her inattention. 

“ Pray pardon me, my dear Constance ; but you 
know Zelma is a little savage and should be christened 
immediately.” 

Madame de Chavigni roused from her painfully 
sweet reverie and confronted the assertion. 


SUNSET AND EVENING STAB.’>^ 269 

“ She will always look like an Indian,” moaned 
Miss Patty. 

“ Zelma daily shows less of race peculiarity. In 
color she is Spanish and her lineaments are of the 
purest. Perhaps Jack Bolton’s surmise is correct — a 
child stolen and hidden.” 

“ Indian or Spanish, she ought to be baptized.” 

“ In Bar Harbor?” 

“Yes; and the sooner the better. Your friends 
are around you and would be warmly in sympathy.” 

“ They shall be gratified.” 

“ Shall I gather them while the fog lasts?” asked 
Miss Patty, much relieved and delighted. 

“I prefer sunshine in which to give Zelma her 
name.” 

‘ ‘ Do you wish her to retain the name she now 
bears ? ” 

“ Yes ; unless I give her mine.” 

“ Yours ! ” cried Miss Patty, aghast. 

“ I love the child,” answered Madame de Chavigni. 

“ Your grandmother’s name ! ” 

“My dear grandmother would not object. Dear 
Miss Patty, my life has been so wrecked by trouble 
and disaster that I fail to attach importance to what 
might once have , impressed me. Why was I born to 
bear such grief and horror? Oh, I am very, very 
weary ! Zelma brightens the gloom, lifts a little of 
my burden. Let me have my way with her.” 

“ Ah, forgive me, my dear ! ” cried penitent Miss 
Patty. “ I was not condemning.” 

“ I can always trust you,” answered Constance. 


270 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


A burst of unexpected sunlight illumined the 
apartment. 

‘ ‘ The fog has broken ! Look at the lovely spaces 
of blue sky from this window, Zelma. The breeze 
will presently sweep the rest of the white curtain 
quite away. Shall we not take a drive? I am long- 
ing to see Hester.” 

“ So am I,”, responded Miss Patty. 

Sails and oars enlivened the water. The bluest of 
skies smiled over Bar Harbor, nature rapturously 
revealing herself after her dismal veiling. 

Basil Wilmerding, still pale, but rapidly recovering, 
was sitting on the Ullescliffe veranda, Hester reading 
to him. Mr. Harcourt, just awakened from his second 
nap, greeted his granddaughter’s friends cordially. 
The long windows of his library opening on the 
veranda gave him an opportunity of studying the 
faces of both ladies and of deciding to whom he 
should prefer his request. He could not leave Hes- 
ter without a safer guardian and friend than Basil. 
Under the care of Madame de Chavigni she would 
be free from his arbitrary, reckless moods and 
requirements. 

A few low words with the Creole lady brought him 
much relief from anxiety. 

“ You do not think my request unwarranted?” 

“Ah, you are very kind. In a brief period Hester 
will be — The future must reveal what I have decided 
for my granddaughter. In your home, Basil would 
feel a restraint he would not know in Miss Conway’s. 
I have said enough. You understand me?” 


SUNSET AND EVENING STAB:^ 271 


“Perfectly, and will be loyal to the trust.” 

“Thank yon.” Mr. Harconrt extended his hand; 
but a sudden pallor passed over his face and his breath 
came in painful gasps. Hester hastened to give the 
well-known remedies. 

“They have asked you to drive, Hester; go, my 
child. You are too confined with Basil and me.” 

“ But, grandfather ” — 

“ Pray do as I say. I desire entire quiet.” 

As the carriage drove away for a drive which Hester 
intended should be very brief, Basil entered his grand- 
father’s room. 

“ When I am gone what are your plans ? ” 

“ I have none.” 

Mr. Harcourt started in his chair and it was wonder- 
ful how strong the feeble voice suddenly became from 
excitement and anxiety. 

“You have none! When will j^ou have? A man 
with no aim in life — vacillating, weak, unreliable! 
Poor Hester ! ” 

“It is only lately, sir, that you have cared for my 
sister’s present or future,” retorted Basil, furious and 
resentful. 

“It is enough that I have awakened to my duty. 
I have confided her to Madame de Chavigni. Re- 
member you are never to molest her. If she cares to 
leave the companionship I approve, it will be for but 
one sacred reason — her marriage. All has been made 
safe for my Lucy’s daughter before it was too late to 
shield her from the brother who so causelessly wrecked 
all his sister possessed.” 


272 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


Basil would endure no more. He strode from the 
room, sending Clinton to sit with his grandfather. For 
the hundredth time he questioned whether the oak box 
had been opened, and his grandfather, knowing all, 
added that knowledge to what he already knew of his 
reckless past. Also, was he really — without a possi- 
bility of amendment — was he that despicable character 
he had just heard sketched in those few incisive 
words? Then, the sooner all was ended for him the 
better. The fact that he had regretted his deed of a 
few weeks before seemed to have made Basil a nobler 
character in his own estimation. “Is it fate — my 
fate — to be what I have been painted ? But ‘ God is 
above every fate.’ ” 

The uplifting memory of Gudule de Rosambert’s 
words came to send one beam amid his gloom. A 
longing to see her, to hear her speak, possessed him. 
Basil, rarely disgarding an impulse, at once proceeded 
toward Miss Conway’s hotel, to find Monsieur de Ro- 
sambert and his sister entering a carriage. 

“Just in time to accompany us!” was the cordial 
greeting of the former. “ Sit by Gudule on that easy 
seat. The delicious air will invigorate you. I am 
truly rejoiced to see you so much improved.” 

Basil, still weak, could not listen unmoved to the 
kind, friendly interest expressed in the words and 
glance of the French gentleman, especially as they 
were echoed in the face and voice of his sister. 
Cheered and calmed, he leaned back wondering 
whether Mademoiselle de Rosambert or his grand- 
father possessed the more accurate knowledge of the 


“ SUNSET AND EVENING ST ABN 273 


real Basil. Oae had faith; the other only bitter dis- 
trust of all that concerned him. 

Turning southward from Bar Harbor, they entered 
the woods leading to Schooner Head, for the sake of 
the grand ocean views of which Henri de Rosambert 
and Gudule never wearied. The road wound on above 
Great Head and Thunder Cave to the Otter Cliffs, and 
then home through the Gorge. On one side towered 
Newport Mountain, its slopes green with fragrant 
forests of pine and spruce, and on the other rose stern 
and lofty cliffs. Emerging from this well-guarded 
path the road suddenly curved toward the shore. 
The stretch of sunlit sea was magnificent, the salt air 
bracing and electric, and the genuine kindliness of the 
brother and sister inspiring. Basil felt himself another 
creature in their atmosphere They went on till the 
Otter Creek road was reached ; then took their way 
through the wild and picturesque Gorge, passing the 
green meadow with its clear, tinkling brook sing- 
ing a quiet song for those who paused to gaze and 
listen. 

“ Thank you, thank you ! ” said Basil, very happy, 
but weary, when the carriage deposited him at Ulles- 
cliffe. “The Ocean Drive will always be a dear 
memory linked with two I shall never forget ! ” he 
exclaimed involuntarily. 

“We are so glad to have had you with us. Can I 
see Mr. Harcourt? A message was given me from 
him by Count Viazemski as we were starting for our 
drive. If he is now able to receive me, my sister will 
return to our hotel.’’ 


274 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


Monsieur de Rosambert was immediately admitted, 
Basil wondering why his grandfather had selected 
Count Alexis to bear the message. Though the Rus- 
sian gentleman was at Ullescliffe daily, there must be 
another reason. 

Very earnest was the hand-clasp the old man gave 
the younger. 

“Your note was a surprise, De Rosambert; but a 
pleasant one. It gratified me that you remembered I 
was Hester’s grandfather — though, alas ! from my 
long neglect I deserved no consideration. Thank God 
that you are young and may avoid the almost unpar- 
donable mistakes of my life. May you never be 
tempted to resentment ! But you are a better, nobler 
man than I was then. I shall not live to see Hester’s 
future. If she consents to find her home in France, 
or — tell her my fondest blessing will accompany, 
crown her decision. Ah, I am very, very feeble. 
May God bless you and Alexis Viazemski. Which- 
ever ” — but the sentence was not concluded. Mr. 
Harcourt faintly motioned with his hand that he must 
be alone. 

As Henri de Rosambert withdrew, Hester entered to 
take her accustomed seat by her grandfather. He 
had become very dear to her ; so dear that she was 
uneasy every moment that she spent away from him. 

For an hour Mr. Harcourt remained silent, seeking 
to regather the failing forces that every emotion de- 
creased so painfully. Toward sunset he rallied won- 
derfully, to Hester’s intense relief and joy. 

“ Always able to go and come as I chose, it is 


SUNSET AND EVENING STAB.'^ 275 


difficult to learn patience in this enforced feebleness 
and idleness. Hester, hand me that water-color on 
the easel.” 

She brought the picture. 

“ You know this?” 

“ No, grandfather.” 

‘‘These ruins are all that now remain of old Tin- 
tagel Castle on the Cornish coast.” 

‘ ‘ King Arthur’s Tintagel ! ” exclaimed Hester, full 
of interest. 

“Yes. I have stood there, and your dear mother 
with me. I love the memory of that visit, so tenderly 
is it linked with her and her delight.” 

“ And will you ” — began Hester eagerly. 

“Tell you? That is what I wish, dear child. 
From London we went to the little inn at Trevenna. 
Rested and refreshed, we walked through the quiet 
village and down the valley slanting steeply between 
green, hills to the sea. How enchanted your mother 
was with the ocean’s blue and the more delicate 
azure of the sky as they blended on the horizon ! 
To my surprise, a precipice stood between us and 
the shore — a vast peninsula of rock invading the 
sea, on which rose the ruins of the donjon-keep of 
old Tintagel. Behind it, on the mainland, stood 
the ruins of King Arthur’s castle, linked to the keep 
by a narrow strip of rock. Then I remembered that 
what seemed a peninsula had once been an island, a 
drawbridge connecting the two portions of the castle. 
The bridge was no more, and the fragments of the 
castle shot up sheer from the edge of the precipice. 


276 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


showing that not only rocks and soil had fallen from 
each side, but masses of the royal residence had also 
plunged into the abyss. 

“Before ascending the height we had a merry 
scramble down to the shore, finding an immense cav- 
ern, or natural tunnel, beneath the ruined keep, where, 
through its arched entrances the Atlantic swept in and 
out at high tide, depositing the tinted seaweed we saw 
on the pebbly fioor. In the green-hued twilight we 
tested the echoes lurking in this rocky chamber, while 
across its jagged, aged roof wandered a lovely ripple 
of light reflected from the fitful play of the sun upon 
the waters. With eagerness we crossed the inter- 
vening space to ascend to the ancient donjon-keep. 
Such a zigzag path cut in slopes of slate up the steep 
face of the mighty rock ! It brought us at last to a 
gothic door in a crumbling, battlemented wall, where 
we entered to walk over dark green sea grass amid 
ruins stately, dusky, hoary with age. From that 
point the sheer descent to the beach was not seen. 
Through the stone archway we beheld only the sky 
and sea in all their splendor of space and light and 
color, with here and there a white sail gliding on and 
shining in the sun. 

“ How vividly I still behold my Lucy’s radiant face 
as, speechless with exquisite delight, she leaned upon 
my arm ! We remained silent, gazing and reverently 
adoring the Creator of all beauty while feasting our 
eyes on what his love had wrought out for us from 
nothingness, to enjoy and bless him for ! 

“ ‘ Oh, if some one would sing the Gloria inExcelsis 


SUNSET AND EVENING STAB.'>^ 


277 


or the Te Deum^ papa ! I cannot use common words 
to express my exceeding happiness to-day,’ exclaimed 
my Lucy. 

“ I bade her sing, and there we chanted both noble 
hymns of praise to relieve and express the joy and 
gratitude of our overflowing hearts.” 

For many seconds Mr. Harcourt was silent, living 
again in the pure bliss of that vanished hour. Hester, 
in full sympathy with the scene, her heart almost 
broken with longing for the loving and lovely mother 
for whom she would always yearn, sat as mute as he. 

With a sigh, the old man roused himself. “ Outside 
the walls we saw the foundation of the king’s little 
chapel — its altar and chancel ruins ; and the grave- 
yard, with its defaced slate headstones. At last, a 
little weary from our long ramble, we sat down to rest 
and await the sunset in Arthur’s Chair — a canopied 
hollow wrought in the rock by wind and rain and air. 

“ The ruins of thirteen hundred years ago were 
before and around us, standing in silence and loneli- 
ness on the old Cornish coast. In the silence we 
heard waves breaking on the beach and ^he cry of the 
gull, and then we saw the sunset — sea and sky a 
glorious blaze of molten gold and crimson fire, too 
majestic in beauty, too lovely in melting hues and 
changing outlines for words to utter or brush to paint. 

“ In its fading splendor we descended the steep and 
dangerous path to the valley, often looking back with 
joy and gratitude and awe at the still thrilling vision 
that was vouchsafed us. 

“ In memory of that day I give you this picture of 


278 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Tintagel, Hester — a shadow of those lonely, crum- 
bling walls and battlements on that bold and lofty 
headland facing sea and sky. 

“ O my child, I thank God for you, his latest gift 
tome — so unworthy of the blessing! May He have 
you in his tender keeping ! ” he faintly murmured, 
sinking into one of his attacks of unconsciousness, 
bearing so startling a similitude to death that Hester, 
while quickly seeking the usual remedies, trembled in 
agonizing apprehension. 

Doctor Duncan and Basil entered. Bending over 
his old friend, the doctor started. 

“ He has gone I ” he said. 

“Gone? O dear, dear grandfather ! ’* and Hester, 
weeping, sank on her knees by his side. 

In the glory of a sunset radiant as that which had 
shone around and above Tintagel, the “ one clear call” 
had come for him and he had gone. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


ON THE HEIGHTS 


UST as it ought to have been ! ” said all Bar 



fj Harbor on hearing that Mr. Harcourt had died 
without leaving a will. 

The vow he had made on the marriage of his 
daughter had been no secret. To make a will was to 
disinherit his grandchildren, while to pass away with- 
out one was to permit the law to secure the large 
estate for their benefit. 

“Fortunately,’’ Bar Harbor said, “Mr. Harcourt 
learned at last to know and love his kin and thus 
permitted himself the delight of abundantly enriching 
them.” 

To Hester, sincerely attached to her grandfather, 
the property now hers was so inwrought with many 
precious memories of one near and dear that its con- 
sideration gave her only pain. 

Basil had no patience with her pale, sad face and 
mourning robe. His exultation was boundless. Every 
regret, every doubt had vanished. Hester owed their 
prosperity all to him ; and he longed to reveal the 
masterly act that had so splendidly enriched them. 
But what was the import of that mysterious paper 
still in the possession of his grandfather’s lawyers? 
It puzzled, but did not disturb, his supreme self- 
complacency. 


279 


280 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Mr. Harcourt must have destroyed the will we wit- 
nessed soon after we left Bar Harbor,” said the Messrs. 
Boultby and Cassiton. “We are glad natural affection 
asserted its power and induced him to remove the only 
obstacle to the inheritance of your sister and yourself.” 

“ You are certain that will was against us ? ” 

“Absolutely. But it was drawn before Miss Wil- 
merding and yourself had become well known to Mr. 
Harcourt.” 

“ He sent you a letter some weeks ago.” 

“ Yes ; with strict injunctions that it was to be un- 
opened until six months after his death.” 

“ Do you know its contents ? ” 

“ Not one syllable ; nor can I imagine its purport. 
We congratulate you and Miss Wilmerding on your 
large fortune and will endeavor to serve you as faith- 
fully as we have for years served your late grand- 
father.” 

The lawyers departed and Basil and Hester were 
launched on the top wave of prosperity. 

But Hester shrank from the publicity of being 
known as the possessor of great wealth. She accepted 
it as a talent, feeling its responsibility and longing to 
cheer sad hearts and anxious minds by sharing her 
unexpected blessing with such burdened ones. The 
remembrance of her own recent trying perplexities 
was vivid, and her sympathy eager and warm for 
others similarly circumstanced. She was very lonely 
too without her grandfather. In losing him she 
seemed bereft anew of the mother they had so loved 
and who had so devotedly clung to them. Many a 


ON THE HEIGHTS. 


281 


half hour she spent studying the water-color of old 
Tintagel, recalling her grandfather’s description of 
the scene and of her sweet mother — a young girl 
then, no older than herself. 

“ It was grandfather’s last gift to me,” she said, 
showing the beautiful picture to Arthur Carroll, who, 
full of sympathy for her sorrow, often came to bring 
her flowers and to take her out to drive or row. 

“ I have an unfortunate name,” said the lad, re- 
membering King Arthur and his knights. 

“The most beautiful in the world, you mean — 
with such an ideal to work up to — 


Who reverenced his conscience as his king; 

Whose glory was, redressing human wrong; 

Who spoke no slander, no, nor listened to it; 

Who honored his own word as if his God’s; 

Who led a sweet life in purest chastity. 

And loved the truth and all that makes a man. 

“ But who could realize that?” 

“ You could ! Oh, how I wish you would permit the 
name you bear to be an inspiration ! ” 

Arthur, with a lad’s sensitiveness, responded unre- 
servedly to the beaming eyes and enthusiastic voice of 
his companion. 

“Truth, self-sacrifice, fidelity, purity — the char- 
acteristics most approved by God and noble minds 
everywhere. Never say or think that they are beyond 
you. But believe, accept, live, and die for them. 
All that King Arthur was, or was imagined to be, 
is embodied for us in the religion of Christ, whose 
spiritual principle Arthur and his peerless knights 


282 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


represented as they warred with the world, the flesh, 
and the devil.'* 

Arthur gazed on Tintagel’s bold and lofty head- 
land, its deserted, wind-swept slopes, its lonely, crum- 
bling ruins rising against a glorious background of 
widely stretching sea and azure sky, and recalled its 
memories of thirteen hundred years ago, still fresh 
and powerful for good because the Arthur of those 
days stood for self-sacrifice, fidelity, purity, and 
truth. 

The picture of Tintagel with its associations, Hes- 
ter’s words, his own memories and thoughts quickened 
by the Spirit of all truth, sent Arthur forth from 
the young girl’s presence with a new aim in life, pure 
and invincible. 

“ There is no prospect now of your ever coming to 
live with me,” sighed Miss Conway, who had entered 
to claim Hester for a walk along the shore. “ My 
beautiful castle in the air has vanished and all my 
bright anticipations with it. But you will visit me?” 

“ With so much pleasure, dear Miss Patty ! ” 

•‘I am told your brother has already bought a 
handsome residence in New York. Your grand- 
father’s house was too gloomy, he said. Hester, do 
be careful ! Are you sure Basil cannot wreck all you 
possess a second time ? ” 

“My half is perfectly secured, dear Miss Patty. 
But do not judge Basil by the past. He has had a 
bitter and severe experience. He tells me all his wild 
days are over. Do you not think him changed ? ” 


ON THE HEIGHTS. 


283 


“ He seems unnaturally excited,” frankly responded 
the old lady. 

“ Where one has not loved the relative through 
whom wealth comes, the sudden relief from almost 
poverty to affluence would cause the strongest to 
manifest an unusual exhilaration.” 

“ I really believe you loved that vindictive, stern 
old man, Hester ! ” 

“ I did love — I do love him. Miss Patty. He was 
very tender to me, seeing in me both my dear mother 
and his granddaughter.” Hester’s eyes filled with 
tears. 

“You are now to live with Madame de Chavigni, 
according to your grandfather’s desire ? ” 

“Yes. For my sake she has kindly consented to 
remain in New York this winter. I am so anxious — 
I fear Basil’s undesirable acquaintances may haunt his 
steps and mar his good resolutions. My presence in 
the city would be a hindrance to any extraordinary 
extravagance.” 

Miss Patty shook her head. “ There is his strong- 
est defense, Hester ! ” 

A canoe was passing in which sat Gudule de Ro- 
sambert, Basil dexterously using the paddle. Both 
faces were animated and they recognized the two 
friends with a smile. 

Was she thus to lose her brother? was Hester’s 
startled inquiry. Better so than to keep and not 
save him from evil infiuences. Remembering what 
Basil had said of Mademoiselle de Rosambert, she 
now wondered at her blindness. Yet how strange 


284 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


and sad the days — the home — would be without her 
brother’s familiar face and voice ! He alone was 
linked with all her earliest, fondest memories. Even 
anxiety for him had become a second nature. 

She turned toward the sea, that Miss Patty might 
not know the sense of desolation that came over her 
and that would reveal itself in fast-dropping tears. 
But Miss Patty had once been young and had expe- 
rienced similar suffering. 

“ I know every step of your path, Hester,” her 
voice trembling with sympathetic emotion. 

But Hester could not discuss the unexpected change 
in her life. 

“I cannot talk of it just now, dear Miss Patty. 
You will forgive me?” 

“ Pardon me, my dear, for grieving you. But when 
you do care to speak, remember that I understand 
all in the present and future that so distresses you.” 

“I must not — will not — be selfish!” exclaimed 
Hester. “Caring for Gudule, I shall care thrice for 
her when she is Basil’s wife. But” — Did Gudule 
know Basil? Could she trust him for a happy life? 

Jack Bolton came rowing up the bay, whistling a 
merry tune. “Where is Olga?” he called out. 

“ Driving with her father and Nelly.” 

“ I have a plan,” shouted Jack. 

Hester smiled and nodded. 

“ Where is De Rosambert?” 

She shook her head. On went Jack, rowing with 
renewed energy. All the friends had separated that 
morning after the christening of Zelma. It was 


ON THE HEIGHTS, 


285 


Jack’s determination to win their consent to his plan 
for spending a night on Green Mountain ; nor did he 
find acquiescence difficult. 

“ Bar Harbor is so crowded. Where do all the 
people come from ? It is a grand thought, and will be 
better in the execution, to see the sun rise out of the 
sea to-morrow morning ; at least, those will see it who 
are enterprising enough to renounce their slumbers in 
season. I shall give orders to have us wakened at 
three o’clock — or earlier.” 

“Earlier? Then we had better sit up all night!” 
cried Hester, laughing. 

So, just before sunset. Jack’s friends gathered from 
various points, and a buckboard with seats for 
twelve bore them out of Bar Harbor — Olga, with 
Rustoff happily accommodated between her father 
and herself ; Madame de Chavigni, with Zelma on her 
knee, and Judith by the driver bearing the traveling 
bag with every requisite for the comfort of the night ; 
Mrs. Bolton, Helen, and Meta; Miss Conway and 
Hester ; Henri de Rosambert and the two lads ; and 
Gudule and Basil. 

As before, the four horses turned to the left, fol- 
lowing the Eagle Lake road a mile out of the village, 
and bearing the friends through the beautiful forest 
of spruce, birch, and pine trees. Ruddy gleams and 
golden lights of sunset illumined the sylvan scene, 
while far below the height they had gained occasional 
glimpses of Eagle Lake enhanced the picture. Emerg- 
ing from the woods the road ran out across the open 
ledge overlooking the silvery lake and the green slopes 


286 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


and rocky peak of Sargent’s Mountain. The north- 
ern portion of Mount Desert lay glowing in the sunset, 
its picturesque hills and sparkling lakes embowered in 
foliage. Frenchman’s Bay gleamed on their right, 
and beyond it, on the mainland, amid a chain of lesser 
mountain peaks towered grand old Katahdin, one 
hundred and twenty miles away. 

When the setting sun cast its beams lower and 
lower, the dazzling pathway lying across sea and bay 
shone like molten silver that burned to gold ; Somes’ 
Sound, Bar Harbor, the chain of Porcupine Islands, 
Lamoine on its graceful peninsula, Sullivan at the 
head of its picturesque bay, smiling Sorrento and 
Winter Harbor with verdant slopes and bold head- 
lands — all were more than ever beautiful in the 
gracious light and ambient air. 

On nearly the highest point of Green Mountain 
stands the Summit House. Jack, Olga, and Rustoff 
started at once to examine the base of that large and 
substantial structure bolted so fast to the ledge. In 
spite of the presence of many other tourists the ac- 
commodation for Jack’s party was ample. Assured of 
this fact, there was nothing to disquiet the mind, and 
all prepared to enjoy to the utmost the beauty and 
marvel of the scene around, abov'e, and below them. 

The sun sank ; the west softly faded from deepest 
red to palest rose, and from richest gold to softest 
amber. Twilight came with its stars and moon ; and 
night beheld the sea transformed to silver. Bright 
beams faithfully streamed from eight lighthouse 
towers along the coast, and the beacon on Mount 





SOMES’ SOUND 






ON THE HEIGHTS. 


287 


Desert Rock — the most remote of all — twinkled a 
splendid star in the deep blue of midheaven. 

Hester turned to speak again to Madame de Chavigni 
but found instead the tall, soldierly figure of Count 
Alexis at her side. With arms folded across his 
breast, his blonde .head bared, and his refined, striking 
features and blue eyes of the north, he was one of the 
noblest representatives of the aristocratic Russian. 

Always free to mention her grandfather to one who 
had so evidently loved him, she greeted Count Viazem- 
ski with pleasure, eager to speak and hear him speak 
of one so dear. 

“ Ah, how I miss him ! ” 

“ And I, also. He made a deep impression on me 
twenty years ago, when, a little lad of twelve, I saw 
him first in Moscow. He was so earnest, so enthusi- 
astic, and so simple and honest in his expression of 
enjoyment. It was a very great pleasure to renew my 
acquaintance at Bar Harbor, and thus to know I had 
not idealized him. I shall never hear the musical 
bells in our Tower of Ivan the Great without recall- 
ing his first conversation with me on my return to 
Mount Desert from Washington.” 

“ Would he permit me to share the memory?” asked 
Hester wistfully. 

“ I am sure he would ! ” and Count Alexis narrated 
the conversation . 

Hester was much touched ; her heart beating ten- 
derly, regretfully for the vanished one to whom she 
could no longer minister. 

“ His was a grand nature, warped for a space by 


288 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


mental disquiet and sorrow. He told me the history 
of his life one evening.” 

“Oh!” and Hester was mute. Had her grand- 
father also revealed his distrust of, and dislike for, 
Basil ? 

“ He loved you. Miss Wilmerding, very tenderly.” 

“If we had only known each other long, long 
ago 1 ” cried Hester. “Think of the years of happi- 
ness I have lost.” 

“ And your grandfather, also. He deeply realized 
this.” 

“ Yes ; he would have been happier.” 

“ You are like him in your candor and simplicity,” 
involuntarily responded Count Alexis. 

“Am I?” Hester smiled, well pleased to resemble 
her mother’s father in any manner. 

“I think I also possess the rare pleasure of having 
known your mother.” 

‘ ‘ My mother ? When — where ? ” 

“The picture your grandfather so eloquently painted 
has placed her in a golden shrine in my memory, 
where, Russian-fashion, I have lighted and burn my 
taper before that lovely nature, and am the better 
and happier.” 

Hester turned swiftly toward him, her face radiant ; 
then, with tear-dimmed eyes, moved a step from her 
grandfather’s friend to conceal her emotion. 

Through the broad, open windows of the Summit 
House a wood fire was seen crackling merrily on 
the hearth. Outside was the summer night with its 
great moon, stars, and tranquil stillness. The voices 


ON THE HEIGHTS, 


289 


of the many tourists were low as they walked slowly 
to and fro or sat on the veranda or on the rocks 
enjoying the beauty of the night. 

Olga, with Rustoff bounding by her side, came 
running to her father. 

“My little moonflower, do you enjoy it up here so 
far from the shore and the sea?” tenderly asked Count 
Alexis, stooping to enfold Olga, who nestled against 
him. 

“I like it anywhere with you, dearest papa; but 
specially here. Don’t you?” 

“ Specially here,” he responded, the happy, mellow 
cadence in his voice seeming to include Hester. 

“ O papa, tell Miss Hester why Prince Khilkroff left 
the Russian army.” 

“It is Olga’s favorite story at present. I have 
repeated it often, because I wished her to rejoice in 
and emulate the noble spirit* that prompted the un- 
usual deed. But for you. Miss Wilmerding” — 

“Call her Miss Hester, papa! Is not Hester a 
pretty name? Yes; you said it was very pretty, 
for I asked you.” 

There was a second’s silence. 

“ Miss Wilmerding will pardon this small moon- 
flower upon the heights, bewitched by the silvery 
beams and remoteness from Bar Harbor convention- 
alities?” pleaded Count Alexis. 

Hester smiled. 

“ Now, papa, pray tell the story !” 

“ You really care to hear. Miss Wilmerding?” 

“ I really care very much,” answered Hester. 


290 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


Then Count Viazemski eloquently but briefly nar- 
rated the deed of Prince Khilkroff with which the 
world had rung — so daring, so noble, so self-sacri- 
ficing was it. But it was new to Hester. - Thrilled 
and delighted, she suddenly heard her name. 

“Hester!” 

It was Basil who spoke, in a voice so strained and 
hoarse and with a face so pallid that his sister caught 
his arm as if to uphold him. He shook his head. 

“ I am not ill,” he said. 

“But you are anxious — distressed! Oh, what is 
it, Basil?” she asked, moving aside with him. 

“ I was listening to Count Viazemski, when sud- 
denly this ” — 

“Then you are ill!” cried Hester. “Is it that 
pain in the heart from which you suffered before I 
went to grandfather’s ? ” 

“Yes. You have found me out! It is pain in 
the heart ; inherited from him, most probably,” Basil 
responded, thankful to mislead his sister, that by any 
means she might cease questioning. 

They all entered the Summit House to gain what 
sleep they might before the early call to watch the 
sun rise. 

But Basil sat by his open window during the waning 
hours of the night and those of the early morning. 
By some awful and mysterious fate or retribution all 
his agony of mind on the destruction of his grand- 
father’s will had returned. In his exultation over the 
great wealth suddenly his he had lost all dread of the 
mental misery he had known. But it had returned 


ON THE HEIGHTS. 


291 


suddenly, unaccountably. He writhed in its pitiless 
grasp. An inner voice whispered that as the world 
had rung with Prince Khilkroff’s heroism, so would 
it ring with his perfidy. When? How? What was 
the utmost the law could wreak on the detection of 
a destroyed will? 

The moon set, the stars faded ; there was a space 
as of twilight — dim and still. Earth was watching, 
waiting for the resurrection of her joy. There was a 
quivering of light in the east, ever increasing, ex- 
panding, till the heavens were glowing and earth and 
sea were transfigured by the indescribable glory and 
beauty of the dawn. From one lovely combination 
and unfolding of color to another grew the wonderful 
boon of the daylight, till above vanished mists, over 
an enraptured earth and sea, and amid the singing of 
birds, the sun was gloriously enthroned. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


TNG down from the stillness, sweetness, and 



V_y majesty of the upper world, the party found 
Bar Harbor in one of its annual excitements over the 
arrival of the first of the yacht-club fleets with flags 
afloat in all their bravery of festal attire. 

Basil threw himself into the scene with feverish 
energy and vivacity, finding several of his gay friends 
on their yachts in the harbor. 

“ I shall go on board and spend the week with 
Geoffrey Hatton ; he will not allow me to say No, 
nor do I wish to. By the way, I shall have my own 
yacht soon. You know I have joined the Canoe Club. 
Through August there is a weekly reception over at 
Bar Island, where they have a fine club house. I 
shall take you and Gudule over.” 

“ Indeed, Basil, I do not care to go ; besides, my 
mourning ” — 

“ Oh, I forgot ! Must you wear those dismal black 
gowns? Wear white, Hester! I cannot comprehend 
how you can care for an old man who neglected and 
forgot you for years.” 

“ But who loved me very tenderly later.” 

“ What proof did he give?” asked Basil savagely. 

“ Many proofs in word and look, while with him. 
And are we not the heirs of all he possessed ? ” 


A jSUMMEB EVEmJVG, 


293 


“No thanks to him ! ” cried her brother. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean nothing,” startled by his indiscretion, and 
veiling his abruptness by a forced laugh and another 
question. 

“Where are Jack and Carroll going? Oh, I see 
— fishing! Good-by, Hester. I shall be back and 
forth ; but do not expect me till you see me.” 

Away hurried Basil to the harbor, as Jack and 
Arthur struck into a narrow woodland path over ferns 
and bunchberries shaded by birches and balsam firs. 
The sun was warm and penetrating and the delicious 
fragrance of the pine was everywhere. Dried arbutus 
leaves crackled under the lads’ feet, for in that wood 
the pink fiowers clustered thickly in the spring. 

Jack and Carroll pursued their way, now whistling, 
now talking, then silent, intently listening for the 
sweet, fresh gurgle of running water. 

“ Halloo 1 ” cried Jack, plunging into a tall thicket, 
and emerging with Arthur close to a glancing, laugh- 
ing stream rippling round bowlders, expanding into 
tranquil pools, or gliding away under overarching 
grasses. 

“ See there ! see there ! ” Jack whispered excitedly, 
as several silvery, scarlet-speckled trout darted be- 
neath an overhanging rock and sped up the trans- 
parent stream. 

Oh, the deliciousness of that sunny day, its sky of 
azure, the trout responding, and all the young larch 
and birch wood behind and before them ! Red-tipped 
moss delicately cushioned the rocks and ground; 


294 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


woodpeckers in their black-and-silver suits uncon- 
cernedly tapped the tree trunks ; chipmunks ran along 
the boughs, or perched on the big, mossy stones on 
the edge of the wood to quietly inspect the intruders. 

“ Apart from the fishing, I know Olga would be 
fascinated with this spot,” said Jack, throwing himself 
down on the bank to rest after his trout basket was 
full. 

The pearly, red-spotted fish were deftly packed in 
fern and then deposited in the ice-cold water of the 
stream. 

“ You ’ll have a dripping burden to carry,” observed 
Carroll. 

“Not I! Every drop shall trickle out before we 
start for Bar Harbor. Let ’s go up the stream, Carroll. 
Come ! ” 

He bounded to his feet, but was suddenly arrested 
by the tones of a violin. “ By all the fauns of the 
wood, if that is not Count Viazemski ! ” 

“Where, Jack?” 

“ On the bank — away up ! Don’t you see? Then 
listen ! The violin will guide you, Carroll.” 

Clear and penetrating, but soft and deliciously 
sweet, the music fioated forth, harmonizing with the 
sylvan scene. All the gentle, innocent creatures of the 
woodland also paused in their pretty pastimes to won- 
der and listen — mute as the two lads under its spell. 
It was Russian music Count Alexis was playing — 
delicate, airy as the breeze, bewitching as the forest 
with its glancing, rippling stream, azure sky above, 
golden shadows and cool, green depths of shade 


A 8UMMEB EVENING. 


295 


below. Then he sang, with the most mellow and 
beautiful of tenors, a pathetic Russian song. 

“ Oh, Nelly should hear that ! ” thought Jack. 

“ Oh, where is Miss Hester? ” thought Arthur. 

But Nelly and Hester had heard ; for suddenly the 
boys perceived them, accompanied by Meta, Olga, and 
the De Rosamberts. They had gone for a drive ; but 
on returning, lured by the charm of the forest, entered 
to wander there and rest a while at Olga’s earnest 
entreaty. Then it was they discovered the reason 
for her urgent request : she had brought her father’s 
violin, carefully hidden in a wrap till the moment con- 
sidered propitious for its emancipation, desiring to 
surprise her friends with his exquisite playing. 

“ Some music, papa, as we used to have it in sum- 
mer time out at Kamennoi Ostrov.” 

Count Alexis complied. Then Henri de Rosambert 
and Gudule sang, as they had often sung to their poor 
friends in Paris, who listened as to the singing of 
angels — for, indeed, angels of tender goodness the 
brother and sister had been to them. 

“And Miss Wilmerding?” asked Count Viazemski. 
No one had ever heard her sing. “ Does she sing?” 
No one knew ; and Basil was not there to betray 
her. “ I believe you sing,” said Count Alexis with 
conviction. 

“ I have believed it for some time,” responded 
Henri de Rosambert. “Do you not sing?” 

“ Yes.” 

Then Hester was entreated, and to end the varied 
petitions, standing under the shadow of a drooping 


296 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


birch, she sang in a sweet, sympathetic contralto 
an old ballad her mother used to sing long, long ago. 

So distinct was the utterance, so beautiful the bell- 
like quality of the rich, low voice, so artless the feel- 
ing expressed in the lovely old song, that every heart 
was touched and for a time no one thanked the singer. 

Rustoff’s excited bark and leap down the hill as he 
espied a squirrel nibbling a pine nut, and several 
beautiful, ruffled grouse under some drooping foliage, 
created a diversion. 

Olga flew after him, and of course the pretty squir- 
rel and the grouse vanished, much to the discomfiture 
of mistress and dog. 

‘ ‘ Why cannot one enjoy quietly ? What need to 
rush upon and destroy a picture for one’s self and 
others?” exclaimed Jack, ready to tie Olga and 
Rustoff to the nearest tree. 

“ Good-afternoon !” called he and Arthur, emerg- 
ing from their hiding place, much to the surprise of 
the party on the hill. 

“You have trout? Bring them, and we will drive 
you home.” 

So the two lads, nothing loath, ran for the basket ; 
but to entirely empty out the little silvery brook that 
would trickle and trickle from the sides and bottom 
of the big, fern-packed, trout-filled basket was not 
to be accomplished in a moment. 

“If you are in a hurry, don’t wait!” shouted 
Jack. 

“No hurry! Take your time!” the answer came 
ringing back. 


A SUMMEB EVENING. 297 

But at last all were accommodated, and the horses 
gayly fled along the road toward Bar Harbor. 

The harbor was full of stately yachts, flags flying, 
a band playing, the sun shining and the bay an undu- 
lating, brilliant floor of sparkling sapphire. 

“Why are you so silent, Hester ?’’ asked Helen, 
who had been troubled by her sad face turned toward 
the white sails. 

“ I must not be — I mean, there can really be no 
cause. O Nelly, are you never anxious?” Hester 
asked with a sudden fall of the voice that trembled 
notwithstanding her self-control. 

“ Not for myself ; but I am for others. I should 
not be even for them.” 

“Why?” 

“ Is there not One who is taking care of them and 
us?” 

“ Often I can see no guardian hand.” 

“ But if we know — are sure it is there? ” 

“Still, there is a fixed law; what one sows, one 
reaps — and nothing else — nothing else! Oh, if I 
only knew ” — 

Basil’s voice, face, and manner had distressed and 
alarmed her. There was evidently a burden on his 
mind he would not share. She was afraid — oh, so 
afraid I What evil was there still to learn in Basil ? 
To fully know the worst — that she could meet and 
bean, perhaps. It was the suspense that oppressed, 
overwhelmed her. 

Day had glided into evening. The last amber tint 
and rosy flush of the sunset were lost in the deep blue 


298 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


of the tranquil night. Between Bar Island and the 
wharf the lights of the newly arrived yachts were 
gleaming. Bonfires, had been kindled along the shore ; 
ruby stars suddenly fell from a rocket launched into the 
air ; from wharf and ships more stars floated down- 
ward. Canoes and boats glided out upon Frenchman’s 
Bay to see the yacht illumination. A band was playing 
in honor of the occasion. The rigging of the yachts, 
from stem to stern, was glowing with pendent lights, 
and bonfires flamed up against the sky. But another 
light was rising in the east ; the moon, slowly floating 
upward, flooded water and mountain slopes as her 
silvery pathway beamed broader and brighter. 

In a boat rowed by Count Viazemski and Henri 
de Rosambert sat Hester, Olga, and Rustofif. With 
erect, furry ears, silvery coat, wide ruff, dark eyes, and 
sharp, delicate black muzzle, the Pomeranian was 
watching the scene. By his mistress’ side he enjoyed 
a perfect satisfaction, only marred by the whiz and 
blaze of rockets and blue lights that he invariably 
noticed by an indignant “ Wouff — wouff ! ” It doubt- 
less seemed to him bad taste to mar the tranquillity of 
the night and the music of the band by that inconse- 
quent waste of noisy powder. 

The night was clear and warm. Across the silver 
track of the moon another canoe suddenly slid, its 
paddle dipping with rhythmic regularity, containing 
Basil and his friend Mr. Hatton. They passed and 
gave no sign of recognition. 

From Rustoff was heard a low, decided growl of 
disapproval. In the five or six times he had seen 


A SUMMEB EVENim. 


299 


Hester’s brother this token of disapprobation had 
never been missing. 

“We should return. I am sure Olga’s bright eyes 
are heavy with sleep,” said Hester, hoping Gudule 
had not seen Basil try to pass them with the indif- 
ferent air of a stranger. She was quite near in 
another boat, with Meta and Nelly, rowed by Jack 
and Arthur Carroll. 

“No, no!” cried Olga, hearing Hester’s suggestion, 
and trying not to let her head sink against Rustoff’s 
snowy shoulder. “ Rustoff and I are so happy ! Just 
let me rest one moment, papa, by your knee.” 

The band was playing softly. In another second 
Olga was fast asleep and Count Viazemski and Henri 
de Rosambert were rowing back to Bar Harbor. 

“ Pray pardon me for knowing you are ill at ease,” 
gentl}" said Monsieur de Rosambert as he stood a 
moment on their hotel veranda awaiting the return of 
his sister. 

“ You are very kind to care for my troubles, but — 
Oh, I am nervous and anxious,” Hester concluded 
with her usual candor. “ Nelly possesses such a calm 
faith that all is, must be, well, because God will not 
permit useless suffering for ourselves or others. But, 
do you know, I care far more for the evil and pain 
that touches another than for what comes to me. 
For Hester I can trust God ; for — for my brother, 
I am timid as a little child.” 

“Your feeling is natural, inevitable — when one 
loves another. I know it from my own experience. 


300 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


If I might only help you in this anxiety, as in all 
others ! ” 

“ Ah, forgive me ! I rest so entirely on your kind 
friendship and am so truly your friend ; but I cannot, 
cannot ” — 

“I understand — I will not distress you. Let me 
help you in any way that I can. Is there no key that 
will aid you in unraveling the mystery that is perplex- 
ing you ? ” 

“ How good you are to me ! ” began Hester ; but 
her voice failed. 

“No; good to myself! You do not know the 
intense pleasure it is to help you.” 

“Thank you! I see my brother is restless and 
miserable, but cannot divine the cause. I am afraid 
to question — to imagine, even ; he will not bear it. 
I must not drive him from me ! My chief earthly 
hope is in Gudule.” 

“ She does not know him,” answered Henri de Ro- 
sambert, his face and voice unconsciously revealing 
how much anxiety his sister’s engagement caused him. 

“Basil has been deeply touched by her confidence. 
Her trust may avert what I dread. Sometimes the 
faith of another will create a desire to merit it.” 

“ There must be a higher principle to guide the 
thought and act.” 

“ Ah, I know that ! I was only trying to gain some 
comfort,” said Hester sadly. “ Now I must find 
Madame de Chavigni and Miss Conway. Thank you, 
so very, very much for your kindness and sympathy. 
Ah, here is Gudule ! ” 


A SUMMEB EVENING. 


301 


Gudule linked her arm in Hester’s and together 
they walked down the long corridor leading to their 
apartments. 

“ My dear little sister — to be,” said Gudule affec- 
tionately, “ you are very downcast. My own features 
are not radiant, I know ; and I was for one moment 
very foolish. Being with his friend, it was not pos- 
sible Basil should pause to speak to us. Am I not 
right ? ” 

“Dear Gudule, I can only hope and pray that you 
will always be my brother’s good angel. He will listen 
to you when he will to no other.” 

Gudule’s face beamed. “To-morrow is Sunday. 
Basil will be sure to come ; he promised. Good-night, 
dear Hester. Trust your dear brother ; all will be 
well.” 

But Hester could not sleep. Pacing to and fro 
through her moon-lighted room, she sought distraction 
from anxiety. “ Trust your dear brother ; all will be 
well,” had been Gudule’s parting sentence. How little 
she knew the real Basil ! Ah, if Hester could trust 
him ! If she could rest her heart and mind on the 
certainty that her brother would seek to do only and 
always the right, for right’s sake ! With a sense of 
intense relief she recalled, “In all things that are, 
God is present, even in the evil we bring into the world, 
to foil it and bring good out of it. We are always 
disbelieving in God, because life does not go as we 
intend and desire it to go. We forget that he has 
larger ends for us than we can see, therefore his plans 
do not fit ours. If God were not only to hear our 


302 


AT MOmT DESEET. 


prayers — as he does ever and always, but to answer 
them as we desire, he would not be God our Saviour, 
but the ministering genius of our destruction.” 

Recalling this thought, Hester was comforted in 
resting on God’s strength and wisdom. He knew 
what was burdening Basil, and would overrule it for 
his good. How idle her restless, anxious care ! Her 
brother could not evade divine love nor divine justice. 
Both would work to free him from the evil nature that 
Hester knew, but, alas ! could not remedy. 

With thanksgivings that her brother was ever within 
the omniscience of God, who would yet save him from 
himself, — faithful to discipline and purify through a 
perhaps needed trial of pain and suffering, — Hester 
fell asleep, trusting and satisfied to leave Basil’s pres- 
ent and future in the divine hands, murmuring, — 

Too weak, too wavering for such holy task 
Is my frail arm, O Lord; but 1 would fain 

Track to its source the brightness, I would bask 
In the clear ray that makes thy pathway plain. 

I dare not hope with David’s harp to chase 
The evil spirit from the troubled breast; 

Enough for me if I can find such grace 
To listen to the strain and be at rest. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A SUNDAY AT BAR HARBOR. 


F all the Sundays passed at Bar Harbor, none 



had been fairer than the one on which Gudule 
de Rosambert waited for Basil Wilmerding to accom- 
pany her to the morning service. The sea, a beaming, 
waveless blue, mirrored the radiant sky. Along the 
horizon lay a chain of dazzling, snowy cloud-moun- 
tains, which Olga had summoned her father to desig- 
nate by their similitude to the Swiss mountains or 
those of the Pyrenees. 

This accomplished, she rushed in to establish Rustoff 
on the top of the broad staircase, from which coigne 
of vantage — his usual post on Sunday — she pro- 
ceeded to give him farewell instructions ere driving off 
to church. He bent his snowy head and pointed ears 
first on one side and then on the other, listening atten- 
tively to her parting injunctions. Why he could not 
accompany her on one day of the week, and yet attend 
her the remaining six, had ever been a dark mystery 
too profound to solve. Indignation and grief were 
becoming too much for Pomeranian endurance. He, 
Olga’s best friend and most loyal protector, separated 
in this perplexing manner from attendance on her — 
his first duty and joy in life, and for no reason he 
could fathom ! It was connected with the ringing of 
bells. Why? The fact overwhelmed him afresh this 


304 


AT MOUNT DE8EBT. 


charming, sunshiny morning. He turned his head 
from side to side with so serious, anxious, and im- 
ploring an expression that Olga was fain to cry : — 
“ Come, Rustofif, come ! ” and thus end, once and 
forever, the painful weekly separation. But that was 
an impossibility ! She explained her disappointment 
in tender Russ, bidding him await her, as usual, 
from the sunny top of the picturesque staircase. 

Then the carriage rolled away through streets 
thronged with Bar Harbor tourists or summer resi- 
dents, wending their way to one of its six pretty 
churches. 

Rustoff leaped down the staircase, out through an 
open window, and along the road in swift pursuit of 
his beloved mistress. He meant at least, and at last, 
to see and know where she went one day in seven, and 
why he was excluded. Carrying his deeply fringed, 
silvery plume well up, with imposing ruff, erect, 
pointed ears, sharp black muzzle, dark eyes and beau- 
tifully fringed paws, many turned to admire the 
graceful creature ; many more to coax him to notice 
them. But Rustoff was adamant to all blandishments ; 
he was following his mistress, and he meant to find 
her ! Fortunately for him he happened to follow the 
road the carriage had taken, and to his rapturous joy 
saw her descend therefrom and go in the church just 
as he reached its entrance. Hidden by the crowd, he 
managed to step fleetly and closely behind Olga, fol- 
lowing her down the aisle and passing into the pew 
just after her. 

Words cannot describe the consternation of Mrs. 


A SUJVDAY AT BAR HARBOR. 


305 


Bolton and the frightened delight of Olga when the 
snowy head suddenly became visible. 

An imperative word from Count Viazemski reduced 
Rustoff to silence and a recumbent position on the 
floor of the pew. There he remained absolutely still 
till the deep thunder of the organ rolled through the 
church, to which he responded by an involuntary very 
low growl of disapproval. The remainder of the serv- 
ice he was dumb and motionless, so overjoyed at the 
solved mystery and the proximity to his mistress that, 
entirely satisfied, he went to sleep and all but Olga 
forgot his presence. 

In a pew just in advance of Mrs. Bolton’s sat 
Miss Conway, Hester, Basil, and the De Rosamberts. 
That they were near each other was a surprise, as 
there was a large attendance that morning. 

A stranger was to preach — a clergyman whom 
Basil had noticed the preceding evening as he re- 
turned to Bar Harbor. The delicate face, stooping 
figure, and air of invalidism had touched him one 
instant, to be forgotten in the next. But in spite 
of many tokens of impaired health the stranger’s 
voice was strong and penetrating, and his manner 
intensely impressive from the earnestness with which 
he felt and delivered his message. He had evidently 
come to them fresh from an agonizing experience, 
suffered through another’s sin. Was it through a 
son, a brother, or a friend that the awful revela- 
tion had touched him? His earnestness thrilled the 
congregation. Just before closing his sermon he 
advanced a few paces nearer his audience, his 


306 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


voice quivering with an emotion he could nut con- 
trol : — 

“ I beseech you to remember the words, the prayer, 
I have given you this morning : ‘ Heal me, O Lord, 
and I shall be healed.’ 

“ The devices of man only increase your malady. 
Concealment is not abatement. What is your pride 
the better for their aid? What have they done for 
your self-will? for your unbelief, slothfulness, irrita- 
bility, prayerlessness, impulsiveness? He who created 
you, and whose creation you have spent your days 
in marring, can alone restore to you His image and 
make you walk in health of soul. Pray God to 
heal your heart, your understanding, your memory, 
your desires, your imagination, your hopes, your fears, 
your speech, your looks, your acts. Through your 
present condition, you are the prey of suffering in 
every form. All your faculties torment you. Your 
words come back upon you and pierce you as daggers. 
Your memory is continually fetching some coal of fire 
to you. Your desires carry you into paths where 
dangers lurk. Your imagination beguiles with the 
idea that it is your royal friend, and taking you by 
the hand to lead you to some canopied and luxurious 
seat, lets it go, and with derision sees you sink into 
some black abyss. Hope sits enthroned as it were a 
delegated angel ; but a long experience leaves you 
unable to doubt the fact that a legion of tormenting 
spirits are the ministers of this still smiling enemy of 
your soul. Many endowments of your nature which, 
if you were not a moral wreck, a spiritual leper. 


A SUNDAY AT BAB HABBOB. 307 


would each have its key to the freedom of a happiness 
all its own, in your corrupt condition only provide 
you with a torment all its own. Oh, pray to Him who 
alone can heal ! Pray Him to release you from your 
own perverted will, your rash desires, your reckless 
imagination. Pray God, for Christ’s sake, to heal, to 
liberate, to save you ! Pray while there is time ! Oh, 
pray, pray, pray ! ” 

Forth into the sunshine streamed the congregation, 
for a space so impressed by the fervor and truth of 
the speaker that their thoughts and words could not 
return to the everyday channels of light, idle talk and 
careless mirth. Some soul that clergyman had seen 
sinking, sinking into darkness and insensibility to all 
that was purest, truest, loftiest, best. He had suf- 
fered agonizingly in his watch and showed painful 
tokens of his mental conflict and sympathy with the 
sufferer. 

Paler and paler had grown the face of Basil as he 
heard his own portrait so vividly sketched. It almost 
seemed as if Mr. Mainwaring had known the secrets 
of his life and the awful fact of that summer. He 
had indeed “ sown to the wind” ! Should he as inevi- 
tably “ reap the whirlwind”? 

Variable in his moods, he no sooner found himself 
strolling along the shore with Gudule than he became 
the affectionate, confiding Basil she had missed for 
several days, who said he looked to her for every ray 
of his sunshine. 

“But I am powerless to dispel your gloom,” she 
replied hesitatingly. “Only recall last Thursday!” 


308 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“Do you not behold your potent influence at this 
moment?”- he asked gayly. 

“It is not my influence,” she responded with con- 
viction. “The earnest words of that true-hearted 
stranger have been the spell to melt the ice and warm 
the stream, Basil.” 

The mood of her companion altered on the instant. 
He made no reply, but his gaze was indrawn, his 
countenance clouded. Basil waxed sullen, oppressed 
by a dismal and irritating remembrance that even 
confession could only aggravate. 

To confess ! That would plunge himself and Hes- 
ter into poverty, separate him from Gudule de Rosam- 
bert, clothe him with the raiment of shame, and give 
him the chains and prison of the law. 

Up went Basil’s head, his eyes flashing. “ Never! 
Never I ” he cried inwardly. “ Better any mental tor- 
ture than outward disgrace ! ” 

The shadow had departed, and turning to Gudule, 
he was once more winning and eager in voice and 
manner. “ 1 was meant to be a good man, Gudule. 
It is this adverse, contradictory — Oh, change for 
me one bitter fact in life, and I shall bring you 
naught but sunshine ! ” 

“Is it not in your power to cancel the past?” 

“ No longer. I must reap as I have sown ; nor 
must I regret it. To regret, to brood is to be so 
miserable that life is torture. I regret nothing 1 ” 
And returning gloom was kept at bay. 

Jack and Helen, who had renounced the drive back 


A SUJYDAY AT BAB HABBOB. 


309 


from church to Bay view, were slowly walking and 
talking. 

“ I ’ll tell you frankly, Helen, that promise I made 
you has been a great help. I should not have under- 
stood or cared for one word of Mr. Mainwaring’s 
sermon if I had not kept it.” 

“ O Jack, you make me very happy !” 

“That’s going too far and too fast! I’m not 
changed enough to make any one very happ}" ; I only 
see how I can alter and am not averse to altering. 
That ’s not quite honest ! I am not so indifferent. I 
owe it to you, Helen, to say that I wish to change 
much in my life — and I intend to.” 

“Again I say. Jack, you make me very happy!” 
responded Nelly, her face beaming and her step 
growing lighter and lighter. 

Jack gazed at her reverently, admiringly. “ It only 
shows, Helen, that a little word may help a fellow 
when the speaker is sincere and lives as she teaches. 
Thank you, Nelly, over and over, for what you are 
and for what you ’ve done for me. I was an outra- 
geous, surly bear, wasn’t I, when you came to Bar 
Harbor?” 

“ Don’t call yourself names. Jack ! ” 

“You never have been afraid to tell me the truth, 
and you ’ve told it gently and lovingly. I wonder — 
I wonder if Basil Wilmerding ever had any one to help 
him as you have helped me ? ” 

“ Oh, Hester is the sweetest sister in the world ! ” 

“ She ’s had a hard, black time with him, then ! It 
is a wonder her sweetness has not changed to bitter- 


310 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


ness. She must be pure gold to bear with that fellow ! 
Have n’t you noticed how he tries her ? ” 

“ Sometimes.” 

“ It is every day, I believe. My advice would be to 
let him go his own way.” 

“ O Jack, you know you don’t mean that ! ” 

“ Not exactly ; but I should have meant it entirely, 
if I had not known you ! There ’s . something very 
serious the matter with Wilmerding. He has a load 
on his mind, I know. Harper said he gambled to such 
an excess before he lost all his property that now the 
club are waiting to see his course with the new for- 
tune. You remember how Rustoff hates him ! We 
may not always know a bad fellow when we see him, 
but a dog never mistakes. Was n’t that jolly the way 
Rustoff came to church? Is it wrong, in your opinion, 
to take a dog to church ? ” 

“ Not advisable — the danger of noise, you know,” 
answered Nelly, laughing. 

“ He ’ll never go again ! I saw that in my mother’s 
eye. Come on, Nelly ; we ’ll be late ! What a day this 
is ! Before you came I used to spend my Sundays 
fishing or shooting. This weather tempts me ; but 
you may trust me, Nell}’ ; I do not wish to be that 
lawless Jack again ! ” 

Meta, standing on the veranda, leaning against a 
column wreathed with vines, watched her brother and 
cousin as they came up the path leading to Bayview. 
Both faces were so happy, so at ease, that she envied 
them — she, so troubled over many things — especially 
over a letter she was holding in her hand. But it was 


A SUNDAY AT BAD DABBOB. 


311 


not Meta’s way to confide in any one. If perplexed 
and distressed, she fought her battle alone. If victo- 
rious, all was well ; if defeated, no one was aware. 
So, while she lost much sympathy, she also escaped 
criticism. 

Entering the cottage, they found Rustoff mounted 
on a chair, watching some boys in a boat out on the 
bay. He glanced toward Meta, but gave no evidence 
of pleasure at her entrance. Nelly wondered why. 
So far as she knew, her cousin was very attentive to 
the snowy Pomeranian ; but he would accept dainties 
from no one save his mistress and her father. He 
owned a small primrose-hued bonbon box — a sailor 
hat adorned with a very narrow brown ribbon. This, 
often filled by Olga with crystallized amber or rosy 
gumdrops, he regarded with great interest, knew was 
his special property, and enjoyed accordingly. 

Suddenly Rustoff, who always considered it his 
duty to express surprise or suspicion, gave vent to a 
succession of violent, quick barks — “ Wouff ! wouff ! 
wouff ! ” 

Jack sprang to the window, to see Basil Wilmerding 
leap down the narrow cliff path in the direction of his 
grandfather’s vacant cottage. 

“ Why is he going there?” wondered Jack. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE CLOSE OF A BRIEF DAY, 


sunrise a dense mist lay over Bar Harbor. 



All the mountains, islands, headlands, and the 
yacht fleet had vanished in this sea of vapor. The 
wind freshening as the sun rose higher, the fog slowly 
waxed thinner and thinner till all the beauty of sea, 
mountain, island and shore lay revealed in clear sun- 
shine and sweet air. 

All Bar Harbor was on the alert for the yacht race 
that was to take place that morning as soon as the 
ocean floor should be swept free of mist by sun and 
wind. 

“ Hatton, the tide is ebb, the sea smooth, and the 
breeze blows lightly from the southeast.” 

“That’s right, Wilmerding ; and the Amethyst is 
sure to win ! Oh, here ’s a note for you, brought over 
by MacCormick. Is n’t your sister coming? ” 

“ No,” said Basil, reading Hester’s hurried lines. 
“ Madame de Chavigni’s Zelma is very ill, and neither 
my sister nor Mademoiselle de Rosambert can see 
us off.” 

“ Madame de Chavigni’s Zelma? Who is that?” 

“A little Indian child she adopted. Oh, there’s 
Ferrerton ! ” and Basil immediately forgot all else in 
the excitement of the morning. 


312 


THE CLOSE OF A BBIEF DAY. 313 


The Amethyst was the yacht he wished to own. 
Already he had begun negotiations for its purchase. 

In the large, airy room of Madame de Chavigni, 
lay Zelma with panting breath and leaping pulse, in 
the arms of her best and dearest friend. Two physi- 
cians were coming and going ; Judith, Miss Conway, 
Hester, and Gudule were at hand to minister as their 
services were required. 

“Is it a dream — a terrible dream?” Hester was 
asking herself as she went into an adjoining apart- 
ment to see Helen, Olga, Count Alexis, and Henri de 
Rosambert. 

‘ ‘ Only three days ago, Zelma was a vision of per- 
fect health and beauty, full of joy and happiness. In 
the night she was suddenly oppressed for breath, and 
every moment since the illness has increased ; the 
physicians now give Madame de Chavigni little hope 
of keeping her,” she told her friends. 

Closer and closer Constance de Chavigni held her 
treasure, never knowing how the hours fled, till sun- 
set, when Zelma was visibly growing weaker. 

“ Sky — sky ! ” faintly cried the child, turning where 
the west was a dazzling crimson, gold and purple, and 
a glory lay on the sea. 

Madame de Chavigni bore her near the wide-open 
windows, holding her so that she could see the 
exquisite changes in the tints and forms of the 
clouds. 

Faint smiles hovered over the lovely face, and the 
eyes beamed in an ecstasy of enjoyment ; then, too ill 


314 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


longer to enjoy, the lids softly closed and Zelma 
seemed to slumber. 

For three days and nights Constance had hoped 
and prayed, while two physicians watched and sought 
to remove Death’s cold presence from that chamber. 
But incessant eiforts and tireless care were useless. 
Pneumonia held poor Zelma in a closer clasp, and 
soon mercifully dulled the brain to consciousness of 
suffering. 

A dreamless repose was creeping on ; the hands re- 
laxed their hold ; the head sank away from the faith- 
ful breast against which it had so fondly nestled ; the 
eyes no longer sought the face of the Creole lady, nor 
did the perfect lips smile a response to the tender, 
love-laden gaze of Madame de Chavigni. Zelma and 
her friend were parting, slowly but none the less 
surely parting, and the end was near. 

To the last Constance held the child, her pale, 
agonized face bending above the paler features, mois- 
tening the sweet mouth, softly pressing her kisses on 
the beautiful, closed eyelids. 

The sun was setting and the moon rising. Amid 
that golden glow and silvery radiance the spirit fled. 
A sudden, brief shiver ran through the child’s form, 
there was a convulsive clasp of the little hand, a 
sigh — and Zelma was gone. 

Still Madame de Chavigni held the precious, tenant- 
less body, bowing her head until her cheek rested 
against the child’s cheek. Then she rose and laid her 
beloved burden on the bed, and sinking on her knees 
hid her face on the little dead child’s breast. 


THE CL OISE OF A BBIEF DAY, 315 


Two (lays later, at sunset, Zelma’s fair little form, 
robed in white and put in a white casket, was laid 
to rest where the song of the surge was never silent, 
and where sunset’s glory and moon’s soft light would 
ever fall. 

Alone again — missing the love the child had hourly 
expressed in her own eloquent language of tones, 
looks, and broken sentences, Constance de Chavigni 
moved about dumb and dazed. For hours she would 
sit apart, or walk with Hester to the little grave — by 
her care already greenly sodded — where sweet, stain- 
less lilies lay all day and roses clustered. 

A cross of marble marked its head, whereon was the 
child’s name, the day, month, and year of her passing 
away, her age, and two lines — 

Oh, cleanse us ere we view 
‘ That countenance pure again. 

“There is nothing more to do,” said Constance de 
Chavigni with clasped hands as she listened to the 
song of the sea and saw how the waters sparkled and 
the sunlight and flowers made that green little grave 
most beautiful. 

“Nothing to do — but much to suffer,” she mur- 
mured. 

So the long, sad, empty days passed and she mourned 
uncomforted. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


TOLD AT ULLESCLIFFE. 

I T was the Children’s Thursday Afternoon, and 
the grounds of the Kebo Valley Club House were 
gay with the little folk in festive attire. Hester, driv- 
ing by with Basil, who had suddenly appeared and 
claimed her for an hour or two, gazed on them, full of 
interest and pleasure in their pretty pastimes. Up the 
Eagle Lake road sped the two horses. Basil, in an 
excited mood, talked fast, not waiting for his sister’s 
responses. Suddenly he whirled the carriage round 
and flew in the direction of his grandfather’s deserted 
cottage. 

“ I have something to say to you. I had better tell 
you there, in that evil spot that basely undid me,” he 
muttered. 

But Hester had heard and trembled. 

For the remainder of the drive Basil was silent, but 
his face was full of a bitter unrest and sullen fury. 
Sweeping up to the handspme villa and throwing the 
reins to the groom, he sprang down, assisted his sister, 
and then, drawing the key from his pocket, crossed 
the long, broad veranda. 

Hester followed, to see the door swung open and 
her brother striding along to the library opening out 
of his grandfather’s room. The blinds of the rooms 


316 


TOLD AT ULLESCLIFFE. 


317 


were closed, but Basil nervously tossed up the case- 
ments and threw back the shutters. How forsaken, 
how desolate the house seemed ! Hester sat down by 
her grandfather’s empty chair. 

Basil walked to and fro. “Either my good angel 
or an evil fiend will give me no rest till I confess to 
you a deed of mine that will ” — 

Basil paused and laughed hoarsely, his face paling 
and his hands twitching a chair in which he finally sat 
down, to immediately spring up and recommence his 
agitated walk. 

Hester rose and linked her arm in that of Basil, 
causing him to pause in his restless march. Her face 
was pale and determined and there was that in her 
eyes that controlled Basil’s nervousness. 

“ You have something to tell me. Tell it, Basil. 
Remember I am your sister and will not desert you.” 

He clutched her black gown. “ I can’t bear to see 
it, Hester!” he cried. “You have no right to wear 
mourning ; our grandfather never loved you. To the 
last he defrauded and hated you ! ” 

“No, Basil,” Hester answered steadily. “ He 
loved me.” 

“What proof did he leave?” scornfully retorted 
Basil with rising voice. 

“ He destroyed his will, as I saw him destroy it in 
my dream, and left us all.” 

‘ ‘ I destroyed his will ! ” 

The words were no louder than a sigh ; but Hester 
heard and turned cold and trembled, but she did not 
drop his arm. 


318 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ Why do you not move from me?” he cried, his 
haggard eyes resting on the lovely face that, pale as 
death, seemed the face of a succoring angel who could 
not leave a tortured soul so in need of help and con- 
solation. 

“Why? For your sake and our mother’s. What 
will you do ? ” 

“I do not yet know. My act was criminal. If 
revealed, ten or fifteen years of the state prison lie 
before me.” 

“ O Basil ! Basil ! ” 

The slight figure swayed, the eyes closed, and Hes- 
ter, who had never before lost consciousness, tottered 
and would have fallen had not Basil caught her. For 
some moments the misery that had smitten her was 
forgotten ; but when she revived to the terror and pain 
of her life she was years older in feeling and an ex- 
perience of suffering that left its impress on every 
feature. 

Sitting up on the sofa, where Basil had laid her, 
she was still faint and spent, but strong in mind and 
heart as she gazed tenderly, sadly, on her brother. 

“ Upbraid, denounce me, Hester ! ” 

“ You need me too much. Oh, my poor boy ! ” and 
then her tears -fell, and Basil sprang to his feet to 
throw his arm around her, murmuring loving words. 
For a moment she rested on his shoulder, then clasped 
his hand in hers. 

“ Tell me all — all, Basil.” 

Basil concealed nothing. 

“ It seemed so easy to condone my deed, Hester, 


TOLD AT ULLESGLIFFE. 


319 


and 1 was so elate, so happy,” he concluded. “ Sud- 
denly the scourge came — the scourge that lashed me 
into revealing what I had done. Day and night since 
I stood on Green Mountain by Count Viazemski I 
have suffered such mental torture that sanity seemed 
leaving me. ‘ I will not ! I will not ! ’ I cried. ‘ You 
must — you shall ! ’ answered the other voice.” 

The tokens of that struggle were very marked in 
Basil’s face and form. He bore the impress of an 
illness of months. 

“I cannot make restitution, Hester; I dare not; 
I cannot face the world. Will not this ill-gotten 
wealth — Oh, my poor, sweet sister, into what misery 
I have dragged you ! ” and Basil’s head sank on his 
breast and his eyes rained hot tears. 

“ Do not think of me, Basil. What is right is now 
the only question before us.” 

“Right?” cried Basil in horror. “‘Right’ would 
take me into prison for fifteen years and you into 
poverty.” 

“ I am not afraid of poverty, Basil.” 

“ Hush !” moaned he. 

Hester gazed sadly at her grandfather’s chair. Then 
he had not really loved her, after all ; he had not for- 
given or forgotten. The pain of this stabbed her till 
she caught her breath and sank back among the pil- 
lows with closed eyes to gather up her strength to 
know what was right for Basil and herself. 

“ This is your birthday, Hester.” 

“ Yes ; I am twenty-one.” 

“ What a memory I have linked forever with the 


320 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


day!” cried her brother. “I had sent for some 
jewels but could not give them ; I had no right. O 
Hester, why do I care? Why am 1 haunted by my 
act night and day so that I cannot rest? ‘ Our very 
wishes give us not our wish,’ ” he added, gloomily. 
“ Why could not grandfather have saved me from 
this deed?” 

It was the question Hester had just asked herself. 

“Send Carter back with the horses, Basil; 1 can 
walk. I would rather walk. Those horses do not 
belong to us.” 

Basil clenched his hand and leaped to his feet. “ I 
was goaded to tell you, Hester ; to share my secret, 
my infamy — but there it must end. You cannot, you 
dare not, expose me. Promise — vow it to me I ” he 
concluded huskily, his face haggard, his eyes wrath- 
ful, yet frightened. 

“ I will never expose you, Basil. It is for you to 
make restitution — for you to speak ; or, rather,” 
Hester clasped his hand in hers, her face brightening, 
“this, this I believe will be right: never to touch 
another coin of grandfather’s. Find work — honest 
work. Then, as fast as we can learn his wishes ex- 
pressed in the will you destroyed, we will give the 
moneyas he desired, by and by, thus restoring all you 
have taken.” 

Basil wrenched his hand from Hester’s, tossing back 
his head. 

“ Is that your scheme ? Never I ” 

“ I shall work, Basil; or go to Miss Patty till”— - 

“Till she divines something is wrong! Are you 


TOLD AT ULLESCLIFFE. 


321 


insane, Hester? Think how narrow a step lies be- 
tween me and imprisonment ! Will you eternally dis- 
grace our mother’s name ? ” 

“ Our mother’s name is sacred, Basil. You know I 
shall never reveal aught that would pain her — shame 
her.” Then she added in so low a tone that Basil 
bent his head to listen: “But — there is one way; 
the way she would commend.” 

“And that way I’ll not take!” cried Basil. 
“Having told you, I am released of half the burden.” 

“ Oh, why, why did you tell me? But that regret 
is utter weakness. I am glad I know. Together we 
will be brave to do what is right. Yes, Basil ; we will, 
we must.” 

“ And what of Gudule? ” 

Hester had not thought of her. 

Basil laughed bitterly. “Would you have me tell 
her?” he asked. “You know I cannot. According 
to your scheme, neither can I wed her.” 

“ No.” 

“ No? ” angrily repeated Basil. 

“ If Gudule truly cares for you, she would not 
shrink from” — 

“I’ll never treat her so cruelly — so wickedly! 
She shall not suffer and struggle with me.” 

“But if she knew all, neither would she marry you.” 

“ I ’m not sure.” 

“lam.” 

“Then she shall never know! I’ll not be dis- 
graced before my world, Hester; nor will I run the 
risk )f the doom I mentioned. Beware how you draw 


322 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


it on me ! Promise — vow to me ! ” He caught Hes- 
ter’s arm, holding it so fiercely that she bit her lip to 
prevent a cry of pain. 

“ You can plan, Basil ; you can defy God and man ; 
but remember — oh, remember, my dear brother, that 
there is no security against the one eternal law that 
what one sows that one reaps, and nothing else — 
nothing else ! ” 

Basil tossed her arm from him and strode to the 
door. 

“ Come ! There is no need to linger here. Carter ! 
shut those blinds and windows, lock the door, and 
follow us to the hotel with the key.” 

“We must wait for him, Basil,” objected Hester. 

“ Tut ! ” Then aloud to the groom, “ I ’ve changed 
my mind ; lock up and then jump into your place. 
It won’t take a moment.” 

In a few seconds the carriage was speeding over 
the road, Ullescliffe once more silent and forsaken. 

Every one was driving, it seemed. Hester was 
forced to bow and smile as she encountered one famil- 
iar face after another. 

Basil’s countenance was fast losing its worn aspect, 
so noticeable in the weeks just passed. Having shared 
his burden, its horror seemed half gone. Oh, if all 
the load would leave him as free as he had been 
just after his grandfather’s death ! Yet the terror, as 
of nightmare, might return. 

Basil pondered. He was then helpless in its grasp 
— sfcficken by an influence he could neither under- 
stand nor resist. Was it the power of the super- 


TOLD AT ULLESCLIFFE. 


323 


natural? Was it God dealing with him? He shrank 
from the thought. 

The weight Basil had partly dislodged from his 
mind fell with terrible force on his sister’s sensitive, 
conscientious nature. How to renounce the wealth 
never bequeathed her, and yet not expose her brother, 
was now the problem that oppressed her night and 
day. The struggle was more or less apparent to those 
who loved her, and whose knowledge of Basil was 
such that they immediately divined that he was the 
cause of her distress. 

But Hester was brave, and her will assisted her in 
concealing much of the anxiety and sorrow that had 
stolen all peace. To think, to ponder, to plan had 
become a necessity and she longed to be alone. The 
shock of Basil’s sin and its results had overpowered 
her. Oh, if there were one person in the world to whom 
she could speak ! some one who could confirm her in 
her sense of right — in her conviction that her grand- 
father’s wealth must not be used by Basil or herself. 

“ But he should have willed it to you,” was the 
inward whisper of some wily, evil, haunting spirit. 
From it she shrank affrighted, knowing its intent to 
weaken her rectitude. 

Day after day Hester wandered alone near the sea, 
the ever-restless surge congenial to the ever-restless 
thoughts that pained and harassed her. Basil noted 
her altered aspect. After searching vainly for her, 
one afternoon, he found her at last seated on a ledge 
of rocks far down the shore. He threw himself be- 
side her angry, nervous, repentant. 


324 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“ I never should have told you ! But unshared the 
burden was killing me, Hester ! And it is building 
up a wall between Gudule and me. Is that to be a 
part of my punishment?” 

Basil gazed moodily over the sea and out toward 
Schooner Head, where the waves were clanging and 
roaring, throwing their foam high in air. 

“ Gudule feels there is something on your mind, 
you mean?” 

“Yes; I cannot be free and careless as I was. 
When I am talking with her, a cloud suddenly drops 
over me — a cloud of awful apprehension. Could it — 
could my deed be discovered, Hester?” he asked in 
low, nervous tones. 

“ I cannot conceive how, Basil ; only, sooner or later, 
an act always seems doomed to carry its own revealing.” 

“There is always the sea” — So sinister, so pe-' 
culiar was the tone that Hester caught his hand, not 
daring to dwell on the awful thought his words and 
voice suggested. 

“O my brother — for my sake, for our mother’s 
sake ! ” and Hester, who had passed a sleepless night 
and tortured morning, sobbed uncontrollably. 

“ Come, let us go out in my boat. What a day it 
is ! Such a sky, such an air ! See the gulls, Hester. 
Ah, do not weep. Pity me — pity me ! It is harder 
for me than for you ; and I thought I was only secur- 
ing our happiness. How could I know this cursed 
wealth would poison all my peace and yours ? ” 

Erect, with folded arms and moody face, Basil 
gazed across the width of sunlit water. 


TOLD AT ULLESCLIFFE. 


325 


“ You love me more than Gudule loves me ! To 
confide in her would be to part us forever. She would 
not live on this ill-gotten gain ; neither could she re- 
gard me without indignant disapproval. Therefore, 
trust me, Hester, she shall never know ; ” and Basil 
smiled so evil a smile that Hester trembled. “ Well, 
it is done, and I must abide by what I have done. 
Exposed, there is one course always open. That 
course is safe, quick, and” — 

•‘Basil, that course leads to the death of all hope, 
all future safety and happiness. It would separate 
you eternally from mother and ” — 

“Say no more, Hester! What must be must be; 
what will be will be. Only know, once for all, that 
I will not live one moment after my deed is known. 
If you care for me, beware how you expose me by 
your acts, your looks, or words. Perhaps my fear is 
mere nervousness ; but I am possessed with the haunt- 
ing certainty that somehow, in some way, all will be 
revealed. Bah ! Help me to overcome this irrational 
mood and let us ‘ eat, drink, and be merry ’ 1 ” 

Basil threw his arm round his sister, who shrank from ’ 
his touch ; then clung to him, as if to shield and save 
him from himself and the due reward of his deeds 
which might yet be in store for them. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


RUSTOFF. 

M eta was holding a bunch of fresh fern leaves 
and clusters of the scarlet pigeonberry, gaz- 
ing on them in a dreamy way, as if they recalled some 
memorable association. Graceful baskets of roses, 
and roses in great fragrant bunches, from friends 
resident at Bar Harbor in summer time, or temporary 
guests at the hotels, decked her room. 

Never had she passed so charming, so gay a season. 
Concerts, luncheons, tennis, and lawn parties in the 
morning ; afternoon teas and drives ; evening dinners 
and dances. “All the world” devoted entirely to 
pleasure seemed to be at Mount Desert, and many 
notables — the Russian, Belgian, Portuguese, French, 
and Turkish ministers from the diplomatic corps at 
Washington. The beauties, the marvels of Mount 
Desert seemed a blank page to these hundreds of men 
and women who only came to seek each other, not to 
enjoy what nature was offering with such lavish hands. 

“ I shall be thankful when society has gone ! ” ex- 
claimed Helen. “We cannot walk, drive, climb, or 
row anywhere without this incessant crowd who are 
only busy with themselves, their gowns, and the im- 
pression they are creating.” 

Jack Bolton laughed and applauded, promising 


EUSTOFR 


327 


Helen many unmarred hours after the first of Septem- 
ber, when these butterflies would flit away to other 
resorts or their city residences. 

While Nelly spoke, Meta still gazed absently at 
her fern leaves, forgetful of the deliciously fragrant 
amber, crimson, creamy, and pink roses around her. 
The ferns had magically spirited her away to shadowy, 
sunshiny Duck Brook Glen, where she was once more 
listening to Henri de Rosambert’s story to little Olga 
Viazemski, in which Paulinus, asleep on his fern bank, 
suggested anew the thoughts that had from that mo- 
ment startled and pursued her through many hours 
and days. Added to this memory were the fervent 
words of Mr. Mainwaring on the previous Sunday. 
These combined, caused Meta to feel she was an ag- 
grieved creature. Why should she remember rest- 
lessly, self-reproachfully, w'hen society forgot? 

And then — Zelma’s death ! Her own strictures on 
the tender act of Madame de Chavigni smote her per- 
petually ; and now all was over. The lovely child, 
for a brief space loved and sheltered, had closed her 
pathetically beautiful eyes. The little feet would 
wander out no more toward the sunset, the pretty 
hands no longer clasp each other at the sumptuous 
colors of the sky, the little form no longer bound in 
ecstasy. Could she have brought no sweet garlands 
to that brief day? A choking sob rose in Meta’s 
throat. Then, unobserved, she carried all her rare 
flowers and scattered them remorsefully over the 
little grave. 

There Madame de Chavigni found her. 


328 


AT MOUNT DESEET. 


“ Oh, how kind of you ! ’’ softly exclaimed the 
lonely woman. 

“It is a late kindness,” responded Meta. “Oh, 
forgive me • — here — that I never gave Zelma one 
rose in life ! What matters it that I heap them 
on her grave now she has gone ? ” Overcome with 
this penitent memory — only one of many bitter 
recollections — the girl bowed her head and wept 
unrestrainedly. 

“Then you loved my little darling?” Constance 
asked tenderly, wistfully. 

“ No ; I never loved her ! ” passionately exclaimed 
Meta. “I have only cared for myself — first and 
last. But I am tired of myself — oh, so tired!” 

Then, raising her head and half smiling, with a 
sudden change of mood — “How amazed society 
would be at my admission of weariness ! And it goes 
for naught, for to-night, to-morrow, every day till the 
season closes, you will hear of me as the gayest of 
the gay. And I do enjoy it all — till it is over; and 
then there is nothing that remains with me : no results 
from the summer to give me one moment’s pure or 
lasting happiness. Do not mourn for Zelma ; give 
thanks she spread her wings and floated away where 
tliere is neither anxiety nor sorrow.” 

“I try to dwell much on that comforting thought. 
Still I so love and miss her that there are hours when 
a selfish longing would bring her back. I can only 
console the yearning by remembering that she is 
always mine to remember — though not to touch, to 
teach, to help, to see, to caress. How utterly she has 


BUSTOFF. 


329 


gone away ! How empty are my rooms, my days, 
without her ! ” 

There were no tears in the beautiful eyes gazing out 
over the sea. The sorrow and loneliness of Constance 
de Chavigni lay too deep for tears to relieve, or even 
to express her unutterable longing. 

Ah, Meta, you have all your life before you ; 
may it be blessedly happy — never desolate like 
mine ! Yet to have known the precious joy that has 
been mine was worth the suffering that followed. 
Yes ; rather would I have learned the bitter and awful 
meaning of an experience like mine than never to 
have possessed the happiness that blessed me so 
long ago! We are plunged in sore and cruel straits, 
Meta, when we must choose the one to have once had 
the other ! I shall need all the teachings of eternity 
to” — 

Madame de Chavigni turned again toward the sea. 

“ I wish I could recall the whole of a sweet little 
poem I knew : — 

Ah, little child with flowers in hand, 

Upon our earthly borderland, 

Lying in white dreams wonderful! 

Men deem it strange that thou shouldst cross 
Into a world so sorrowful. 

To make it harder with thy loss. 

Yet SO inexpressibly lovely while it lingered with 
us ! Better a thousandfold to have had its pure 
presence than never to have seen, to have known that 
joy. Come, Meta ! ” and the elder lady rose, lovingly 
placing several sprays of whits, fragrant lilies at the 
head of Zelma’s grave ; then, linking the girl’s arm 


330 


AT MOUNT DESEBT 


in hers, the two left the lonely, beloved spot bathed 
in the glowing rays of sunset. 

“ To-night it will be silvery with moonlight ; Zelma 
would like it so.” 

After parting with Madame de Chavigni at her ho- 
tel, Meta in a softened mood went on slowly toward 
Bayview. Quick, eager steps overtook her. 

“How weary you seem!” said Geoffrey Hatton, 
his tones laden with sympathy, and giving Meta the 
support of his strong arm. 

“ A little tired, but not now unhappy.” 

“ And not wearing one of my roses? ” 

“ No. All are now lying on Zelma’s little grave. 
Not that I did not value those you sent me, Geoffrey. 
It was because I cared for them that I wished to lay 
there what in other days I would have kept for self 
alone. Oh, I am — I have been — so supremely 
selfish ! Have you no charm to lure me from this 
chilly shadow?” 

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with 
might ; 

Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of 
sight. 

Is that it? ” 

“Yes; I thought so at Zelma’s grave; and I 
thought so that lovely day in Duck Brook Glen ; and 
again last Sunday when Mr. Mainwaring was speak- 
ing. But if it is only and always acknowledging and 
not changing” — added Meta with a sigh. 

“You received my letter?” 

“Yes.” 


BUSTOFF. 


331 


“ And ” — 

“ Are you are not afraid, Geoffrey, that ‘ self’ en- 
tering into your life will not ‘ pass in music out of 
sight’?” 

“ I fear nothing, Meta, but to lose the music you 
alone can bring, and are, and have always been, and 
will be to me ! ” 

The moon had risen. Olga and Rustoff were out 
on the veranda awaiting Count Viazemski’s return 
from his call on the Russian minister. Olga, perched 
on the carved balcony, was anxiously watched by the 
Pomeranian lest she should receive an injury. From 
time to time he would utter his “ Wouff ! woufif ! ” of 
warning, when she seemed to forget the height of 
the balustrade, leaning over farther than to his ca- 
nine judgment seemed safe or advisible. With ears 
cocked, in all the alert yet stately beauty of glisten- 
ing ruff and plume waving high above his back, he 
gazed at Olga full of eagerness and amazement when 
she suddenly sprang from the balcony to speed down 
the graveled path leading to the entrance of the 
Bay view grounds. 

Following her, as was his duty, his whole frame, 
from the tip of his black muzzle to the tip of his 
feathery tail, was tremulous with excitement when he 
saw his mistress open the broad and lofty gates to 
descend the road in her impatience at her father’s 
unusually prolonged absence. 

Rustoff knew, as well as did Olga, that they were 
on strictly forbidden ground ; but if his mistress 


332 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


stepped outside the gates of Bayview, it was clearly 
his duty to follow and protect her. Under the risen 
moon the road, the sky, and sea were irradiated. 
Unseen by Olga some one was watching on the other 
side of the gate. 

Suddenly a long strong arm seized Rustoff, and a 
man leaped with him across the bright road in the 
direction of the sea. 

“ How dare you ! How dare you ! He is my dog 
— mine — mine ! ” cried Olga, beside herself with 
anger and terror, flying after the thief, who rushed like 
the wind, while Rustoff struggled and bit and growled 
and barked. 

Jack Bolton heard the screams and the frantic 
“ Wouff ! wouff ! wouff ! ” and came speeding down 
to the open gates, but too late. 

“Oh, a man — a wicked man — has stolen my Rus- 
toff ! ” gasped Olga, white as death, quivering in every 
limb, and running on toward the shore. 

Vain pursuit! A boat was swiftly gliding away in 
the moonlight, rowed by vigorous arms, and in the 
boat was the Pomeranian, unable to return to his 
beloved mistress. Sea, sky, and rocks all swam and 
faded before Olga’s sight and she sank in a heap at 
Jack’s feet. 

“Oh, you poor child ! ” 

Marfa, Meta, Geoffrey Hatton, and Helen had 
recognized Olga’s voice and had seen Jack leap at 
the sound. They were close behind him, and in a 
second all five were seeking to soothe the bereft child. 

Count Viazemski was driving in at the gates. Jack 


EUSTOFF. 


338 


shouted, and presently Olga was lifted by her father, 
only to wrench herself free and cry : — 

“Someone — oh, all go! — take me — get a boat 
— find him — find my Rustoff ! ” 

Jack explained to Count Alexis. 

“How did Olga and Rustoff happen to be outside 
the gates ? ” 

“ Oh, I — you did not come, papa. Rustoff and I 
ran out to look for you. Yes — I disobeyed. It was 
not Rustoff’s fault ; he ran out after me to take care 
of me. And now — Rustoff 1 ” A flood of tears con- 
cluded the sentence. 

“We will find him, Olga,” answered her father 
firmly, yet tenderly. “ Look at me, my dear, dear 
little daughter ! ” 

The child threw her arms round his neck, and, 
though still sobbing, was somewhat assured and 
comforted. Her father could not fail in what he 
attempted ! 

“But if that man should carry Rustoff away — 
away to' sell him or ill-treat, starve, or beat him? 
Oh, it ’s all my fault, because I disobeyed papa ; ” 
and again Olga was overcome with anguish and terror 
lest suffering should befall her treasure. She looked 
up into the sky. “ Only the moon can see now where 
that thief is carrying my Rustoff. O moon, moon ! 
make him kind to my poor little dog ! ” 

Olga was so excited and overwhelmed by fright 
and sorrow that Count Alexis gathered her up in his 
arms and carried her into Bayview. 

“ Listen, Olga ! Rustoff has been stolen to secure 


334 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


a reward. He is too beautiful and valuable to be ill- 
treated. I shall advertise his loss immediately and 
promise so large a remuneration for his restoration as 
to make his return an object. In the meantime, I will 
send out half a dozen men in boats to every island 
and point where it would be possible for that thief to 
secrete him.” 

“ 0 thou good papa ! And not yet one black word 
of my naughty — It is I who alone am to blame ! ” 
and Olga buried her face on her father’s breast and 
was silent. 

Two days, three days passed and no tidings came 
from Rustofif. It was possible he had been carried 
far away from Mount Desert. Who would not pur- 
chase such a rarely beautiful creature? 

Olga mourned and moaned. When not standing 
on the shore, or out on the bay with her father, she was 
on her knees praying. “ God can see ; God knows ; 
and God can give me Rustoff once more — though I 
don’t deserve him,” was always the piteous conclusion. 
“Was not Rustoff ‘ a good gift and a perfect gift,’ 
papa ? Then he ‘ came from above — from the Father 
of lights with whom is no variableness or shadow of 
turning.’ Miss Hester showed me the words, and 
she thought God would not repent that he had given 
me Rustoff.” 

“ It might mean that, my Olga.” 

“And Rustoff was ‘ a thought of God,’ was n’t he? 
Oh, such a beautiful thought ! Would he permit that 
thief to harm, to kill him? ” 


RUSTOFF. 


335 


“ We may trust not. But if Rustoff was taken 
from you because you are so unwilling to bend your 
will to what is right? ” 

“Yes; I have remembered that,” rejoined Olga 
with a profound sigh. “ But if I may be once more 
trusted with Rustoff, I ’ll never, never, never forget 
the lesson, papa.” 

“ Then losing Rustoff may bring you a blessing, my 
dear little daughter.” 

“ Yes — if he comes back to me.” 

Then Olga, with such a pain in her heart as she had 
never known before, waited and mourned and could 
not be comforted while she did not hear his “ Wouff ! 
wouff ! wouff ! ” resounding in the air. 

Where was Rustoff? He was secured in a cavern 
on Burnt Porcupine Island, terrified, forlorn, and 
refusing to eat or drink. Jem Todd had often noticed 
him with the Russian gentleman and his little golden- 
haired daughter, and, learning of the former’s great 
wealth, determined to capture the beautiful, snowy 
favorite and obtain a large reward for his' ransom. 
He had long sought an opportunity ; early and late 
he had cautiously lingered around Bayview. The 
evening of Rustoff’s capture, Todd had quite de- 
spaired of ever entrapping a treasure so carefully 
guarded. Great was his triumph as he plunged 
down the steep path to the shore where he kept 
a boat always in readiness ; he was elate as he rowed 
away across the moonlit water, his long-sought prize 
at last secure ! That Rustoff would not eat or drink, 
that he carried his royal plume at half-mast, that he 


336 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


growled menacingly whenever Jem approached, and 
shrank farther away from him in one corner of his 
gloomy prison — were all significant tokens that if 
liberty and restoration to his mistress were not soon 
accorded, death from grief and starvation would de- 
prive his jailer of the large reward Count Alexis had 
offered. For the dead dog — nothing; for the living 
Pomeranian five hundred dollars ! 

Jem caught his breath. He had never even seen 
such a sum of money. He must not lose his chance. 
So on the afternoon of the third day he hurried to 
Bar Harbor to change his working suit for more 
suitable clothing in which to restore Rustoff, while 
concocting as plausible a tale as he could invent of 
having heard a dog bark on the island and hasten- 
ing to his rescue. 

Rustoff, meanwhile, faint from hunger, grief, and 
terror, was crouched in the dark cavern wondering, 
dog-fashion, over the woe that had befallen him. 
Eat? No; he’d never eat again — there! Had his 
mistress forgotten him? Could she not find him? 
He could have found her in strange lands by his 
scent alone ! Oh, she could not forget Rustoff ! Then 
she was mourning as he was inourning. Oh, he must 
reach her I must make her hear him ! 

With sudden animation and a wild hope he sprang 
at the boards fencing him within the cave, growled, 
and then barked violently. 

“ There he is ! There he is ! ” and Jack, who had 
been rowing for hours seeking Rustoff, pulled in the 
direction of the clamorous sound. 


BUSTOFK 


337 


Beaching his boat, Jack ran up, calling “ Rustofif ! 
Rustoff ! ” 

The Pomeranian responded anew, leaping in frantic 
delight, and trying to force his way through the planks 
that had been nailed halfway down the interior of the 
cave. 

With a hammer which he had remembered to bring. 
Jack soon liberated the dog, and in a few moments 
Rustoif, who had never before cared for Jack or al- 
lowed him to touch a hair of his glistening ruff 
or plume, was leaping on him hailing him as his 
deliverer. 

“ Now, Rustoff, quick — quick ! ’’ and Jack dashed 
back to his boat, launched it, and with the rapturous 
Pomeranian at his side began pulling for the shore. 
He paused an instant to sweep the bay with his glass. 
A suspicious craft was bearing down from Bar Har- 
bor. Jack pulled off his coat. 

“ Lie down, Rustofif ! I must hide, cover, you.” 

Using his glass again, he discerned the face of Jem 
Todd. 

“Whew!” whistled Jack softly. “Are you the 
man?” Skirting round the other side of the island, 
he awaited consequences. 

On came Jem, mistrusting nothing. He had met 
several boats containing the count’s seekers, all de- 
sirous of securing the large reward. Finally he espied 
Master Bolton minus his coat. 

“ A warm day, sir ! ” sang out Jem. 

Whereat Rustoff, recognizing the hated voice of his 
captor, indulged in a smothered growl of rage. 


338 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ Very hot ! ” returned Jack. “I’m more comfort* 
able without my coat.” 

“ Ay, ay ! ” sang back Jem Todd. 

Then how Jack plied his oars for Rustoff’s deliver- 
ance, knowing that, his loss discovered, Todd would 
make a fight for his recapture ! 

Nor was Master Bolton a moment too soon. Todd 
leaped ashore, ran up to the cavern, saw the wrenched- 
off boards, and knew he had lost that dazzling ransom 
money ! With an oath and an evil clouding of his 
face he rushed back to his boat. 

“ If I can’t have the five hundred, I can shoot that 
dog ; and I will ! ” 

Muttering imprecations as he went, he pulled 
with a will across the width of shining water, but 
only to see Jack spring on the Bar Harbor wharf 
and the snowy fur of the stolen dog gleam in the 
sunlight. 

“I’m dashed !” cried Todd, turning his boat around 
that he might later reach Mount Desert in a more 
composed manner. 

“ Olga ! he ’s come — Rustoff ’s come ! ” cried pant- 
ing Jack, tearing up the path to Bay view, the flying 
feet of the Pomeranian preceding him. 

Frantic leaps of joy, circles of rapture, ecstatic 
“ wouffs ” were heard as Olga’s arms were flung 
around him. 

“ Neighbor ! neighbor ! I ’ll never forget you to my 
dying day! Nor will Rustoff;” for the Pomeranian 
had run to Jack and was testifying the most ardent 


RUST OFF. 


339 


gratitude by caresses and waving feathery plume that 
once more curled proudly in its proper place. 

Olga’s thanksgivings were sincere and fervent, caus- 
ing Rustoff to participate by his presence in what she 
knew he would also offer gratefully, if he understood 
his deliverance as did she. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 


'» usual, the morning’s mail brought Basil many 



/~\ letters. Idly opening and glancing at their 
contents, he suddenly seemed to cease breathing. 
The fifth envelope revealed an enclosed letter folded 
in a half sheet of note paper containing these words : 

Mr, Wilmerding, — Mr. Harcourt, your late grandfather, en- 
trusted to my care the accompanying letter to send you six weeks 
after his death. I am, sir, respectfully. 


JOHN CLINTON. 


New York, August 31. 


John Clinton had been in the service of Mr. 
Harcourt thirty years. The enclosed letter was in 
the well-remembered handwriting of his grandfather. 
Staring at his own name on the sealed envelope, Basil 
delayed examining its contents. A foreboding of evil 
paralyzed him ; a great horror of the present and the 
future overshadowed him. 

“ Hester ! ” To his consciousness he seemed to 
shriek the name ; in reality it was uttered scarcely 
above a whisper. 

“ Hester ! ” He essayed the effort a second time. 

Her name more clearly uttered attracted Hester’s 
attention and she hurried to Basil from an adjoining 
apartment. He handed her Clinton’s brief lines and 
his grandfather’s letter. Hester became almost as 
pale as Basil. 


840 


REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 


341 


“ Read it — read it ! End the suspense ! ” she cried. 

“You must open it,” answered Basil in a hoarse 
whisper. 

Hester tore open the envelope, casting her eyes on 
the sheet, then sank on a chair by Basil’s side mur- 
muring, — 

“ He knew it — he knew it ! ” 

“What?” 

“ That you — see ; read for yourself.” 


Ullescliffe, July 20. 


You may wonder that, knowing your infamy,! forbore to expose 
you. I believed that six weeks of unrighteous possession would 
punish you more effectually than if I denounced you the moment 
I discovered you had been tampering with my private business 
box. In your presence I remember saying I should not reopen 
my carefully adjusted papers; but an urgent impulse induced me 
to disregard my assertion ; the result you know. 

I am much mistaken in my estimate of human nature if six 
weeks of unlawful possession will not have been weeks of meas- 
ureless mental torture. You will know, when this letter lies in 
your hand, that almost unlimited wealth does not confer happi- 
ness ; perhaps this bitter knowledge is worth the sin — the crime 
— you have committed. 

But you are not to possess an inheritance I never designed for 
you. Soon after the receipt of this letter your act will be known 
by the world you so dread, yet honor. I have taken means to 
spread this knowledge. 

For the sake of my Lucy’s Hester, I hesitated. Her I love and 
trust. If she doubts this, beseech her to suspend her judgment 
for a brief period. 

In the mean time, find work, honest work. Infamous as you 
are, perhaps you are worth saving eventually. 


Bar Harbor. 


JOHN HARCOURT. 


Dumb, dazed, Basil read to the conclusion and then 
sat staring at his grandfather’s letter or gazing blankly 


342 


AT MOUNT DESERT, 


at Hester. His anguish of mind was intolerable ; nor 
was that of his sister less. 

“ I understand it all,” Basil said at last, rising, 
while his limbs tottered from excitement and his voice 
trembled. “ The morning I went to the Indian en- 
campment I told you Mr. Nevvins, of New York, was 
with grandfather, and I could be excused. He must 
have revealed all to him, and with his assistance 
written another will witnessed by his signature and 
that of Clinton or Dawson. And now ” — 

The haggard face turned on Hester was white as 
death. She threw her arms round his neck. 

“ Let me go with you, Basil — oh, let me! I will 
work for and with you. We may be very poor, but we 
will be honest and brave.” 

With an oath Basil unclasped her hands and pushed 
her from him. 

“When I go, I go alone. Where I go, I have not 
yet decided. To make an end of it all would be easy, 
but for my mother’s sake and yours I resist that 
temptation.” 

“Oh, thank God!” cried Hester. “1 could not 
endure that crime on your soul and live.” 

“ How soon could Nevvins” — 

“That is only your impression, Basil,” responded 
Hester eagerly. “ You do not know that Mr. Nev- 
vins received grandfather’s confidence.” 

“ There was no one else save Clinton to whom he 
would speak freely.” 

“ May it not have been Monsieur de Rosambert or 
Count Alexis?” 


BE APING THE WHIBLWIND. 


343 


“Ha!” Basil clutched Hester’s arm for support, 
while waves of hot shame seemed to flow over and 
submerge him. “O Hester — Hester!” he gasped, 
“ I cannot face this disgrace, this misery. I told you 
how it would be. Better, far better the sea ! ” He 
extended his arms as though oblivion beneath its cold 
waves would be welcome. 

But Hester clung to him and his purpose changed. 

“Fortunately, I drew out a large sum of money 
day before yesterday for the purchase of Geoffrey 
Hatton’s yacht Amethyst, which won the race. I have 
a right to that much of grandfather’s estate ; at least 
I shall use it!” with a brief, mirthless laugh. “I 
shall go far, far away and find some means of self- 
support. That secured, I ’ll send for you, Hester ; 
and when I ’m able, be very sure ” — Basil’s face was 
suddenly livid with hate as, leaving his sentence un- 
finished, he exclaimed, “Is grandfather enjoying the 
peace, the bliss, the rest of heaven? Never, never! ” 
He threw up his arms, his countenance that of one 
whose sanity was tottering. Then he caught Hester 
in his arms and kissed her for farewell. 

“Tell Gudule never to think of me. Stay — I 
must write it, or she will not believe you.” 

“ O Basil — Basil ! ” 

The brief note was scribbled, folded, directed, and 
Hester thrust it in her pocket. 

‘ ‘ O my brother ! — my brother ! wait, remain ” — 

But Basil had passed from her presence. All grew 
dark around the heart-broken girl and she lost con- 
sciousness. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


FLIGHT. 

ry^HE days that followed were days of intense 
Jl mental suffering to Hester. The newspapers 
were avoided, then as eagerly scanned, but no mention 
of Mr. Harcourt’s destroyed will appeared on their 
pages. 

To Gudule the hurried note had been given. 

“It means — it means” — and Gudule de Rosam- 
bert caught Hester’s hand as she gazed piteously 
upon her. 

“ Basil was obliged to go away suddenly. His 
absence may be indefinitely prolonged.” 

“ But I would have shared his anxiety, his trouble,” 
cried poor Gudule. 

“ His trouble could not be shared, dear Gudule.” 

“It concerned another?” 

“ It was due to the act of another.” 

“ Then Basil is blameless!” eagerly cried the girl, 
her haunting fear instantly removed. 

Hester was silent. 

“ You know Basil’s secret? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Do you tell me he did right to go?” 

“ He could not but go.” 

“ For another’s sake? ” 

“For his own sake and the act of that other.” 


344 


FLIGHT, 


346 


“ I trust him. The future will redeem my faith in 
him 1 He has suffered — oh, how Basil has suffered ! ” 
Gudule responded brokenly. 

“Yes,” cried poor Hester, her tears falling, and 
clasping Gudule’s hand, inexpressibly grateful for 
her love and loyalty. 

“ What shall you tell the others, Hester?” 

“ I will tell them what I have told you ; he was 
obliged to go suddenly through the act of another.” 

“ That is true, and that is enough.” 

“All will forget him too soon ! ” 

But looxdd they forget, came the stinging ques- 
tion, when the world should hear of his crime? Oh, 
need it be revealed? Could not that awful shame be 
spared them ? To whom could she appeal ? To whom 
had her grandfather confided the secret? Now that 
Basil had renounced the inheritance and would here- 
after sustain himself, why need the public learn of 
the deed ? But renouncing such an estate would inev- 
itably cause the world to wonder, to prattle. Dis- 
tracted, agonized, Hester walked her room, shunning 
all her friends save Gudule. She knew Basil’s absence 
was already arousing comments and suspicions, though 
no one mentioned his name in her presence. 

Restless and unhappy she wandered alone down the 
shore and sat on a rock to think. The ocean lay gray 
and tranquil under a gray sky. In her present mood 
the sombre tints soothed and harmonized with her 
dejected feeling. The sunlit sea of yesterday had 
been too joyous a picture not to oppress a heart so 
sad and anxious as hers. 


346 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


The early days of autumn had already thinned the 
hotels of most of their guests. The distinguished 
members of the diplomatic corps, the officers of the 
naval squadron, and the resplendent leaders of fash- 
ionable life were gone. Some enthusiastic artists 
still remained, transferring to their canvas the ma- 
jesty and rare beauty of Mount Desert scenery ; and 
some of the summer residents lingered, who most 
enjoyed the island after the brilliant crowd had 
vanished. 

Hester was thankful for the quiet of the empty tow- 
path that morning ; but she was fated not to be alone. 
Coming toward her she presently saw Count Alexis, 
Olga, and Rustoff. In an instant she wished to rush 
away, as she had evaded Henri de Rosambert’s pres- 
ence and sympathy yesterday. Did he not know the 
reason of Basil’s flight? Did Count Alexis? 

“ Play with Rustoff there, my darling ; I desire to 
speak to Miss Wilmerding ; ” and asking permission 
to take a seat by her side. Count Alexis descanted on 
the day and other minor topics. There was an uncon- 
scious evidence of sympathy in his eyes and voice 
that immediately assured Hester that her companion 
was aware of her mental suffering and its cause. 

Why should he care? Why should any one care 
save herself and Gudule, who still believed in and 
loved Basil, and who could not dream of the shame 
and agony she was enduring? thought Hester. 

“ When do you expect to hear from your brother?’ 

“ I have no expectation as to the time,” she re- 
sponded, trying to speak quietly. 


FLIGHT. 


347 


“ Is Mr. Wilmerding a regular correspondent?” 

Hester suddenly scanned the face of Count Via- 
zemski. Was he seeking to learn Basil’s whereabouts 
to betray him? Oh, surely not, if she dared trust 
his face ! 

“O Count Viazemski, pray do not question me!” 
exclaimed Hester, almost unable to bear the torture of 
his presence. 

“ I must make an end of this pain, for your sake ! ” 
abruptly responded Alexis Viazemski. “ Trust me — 
confide in me ; I know all.” 

“Then you know” — and Hester’s face was pallid 
and her eyes closed in dread of his answer. 

“ Yes ; I know all. Your grandfather spoke to me, 
relied on me.” 

“ And you will” — 

“ Do nothing to grieve you.” 

“Ah!” Hester drew a long breath and gazed at 
her companion. 

“ But your duty?” was wrung from her in spite of 
herself. 

“ My duty was hedged around with a wide margin 
of compassion, by your grandfather’s express desire ; 
and it was almost wholly for your sake.” 

“Then he did love me a little?” Hester questioned 
wistfull}^ 

“ He loved you deeply.” 

“ Why did he not protect your future?” 

“Yes; and Basil’s? Basil was as near of kin as 
I — his daughter’s only son. How my mother loved 


848 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


Basil ! For her dear sake he should have been more 
tender, more pitiful.” 

“ Your brother was absolutely antagonistic in mind 
and character ; and so associated with your father 
from his resemblance to him in form and feature, 
that ” — 

“I understand. Poor papa! He was never for- 
given for winning my mother from her father ; yet he 
was in every way worthy — the noblest ” — Hester’s 
voice broke and she turned toward the sea to conceal 
her emotion. 

“An old man’s anger and sorrow are sad to wit- 
ness ; and his penitence no less moving.” 

“ His penitence?” 

“ Yes ; your grandfather did repent and would have 
done much for Basil, had not his crime confirmed 
all Mr. Harcourt’s prejudices and strengthened every 
resolution against him. As it was — Oh, believe 
that for your sake, when he could no longer trust your 
brother, he evaded even his own judgment and sought 
to lighten his condemnation.” 

“What do you mean?” Hester turned eagerly to 
her companion. 

“I mean that your grandfather empowered me to 
conceal his grandson’s act, if he showed unmistakable 
evidence of penitence.” 

Hester’s hands unconsciously clasped each other, 
and her whole soul sped heavenward in thanksgiving. 
For some moments there was silence. 

“ You can tell me if your brother ” — 

“ Oh, he is penitent ! ” cried Hester. “ That is ” — 
and she paused. 


FLIGHT. 


349 


“ Do not try to explain ; I understand. The dread 
of a revelation, the terror, the consequent anger 
mingled with a sense'' of injustice — all combine at 
present to form a mood not just what 3^our grand- 
father meant, by penitence.” 

“ Yes ; I know,” answered Hester faintly. “ Still” 
— and she gazed imploringly at Count Alexis. 

“ I shall wait.” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” 

“ At the same time there must be no revelation to 
Basil of your grandfather’s instructions to me. He 
must be allowed a chance to redeem his past — to be- 
come what the son of such a mother surely has the 
capacity of becoming.” 

Hester’s eyes beamed unspeakable gratitude. 

“ To know he could evade the law — could have his 
life ordered as though he had never committed that 
crime — do you not feel that you must not permit your 
love for your brother to harm him? Love him so 
deeply, so truly, as to allow him to suffer for a time, 
that he may be purified, uplifted by that suffering. 
Is it not thus our heavenly Father deals wisely, ten- 
derly with us, his children?” 

“ Yes,” murmured Hester. “ But in the meantime, 
if Basil has no hope, no outlook ” — 

“ I will see to that, so far as I may. Your 
brother and my dear old friend’s grandson shall not 
suffer too bitterly. I shall spare him useless pain. 
Pain is a means, not an end, you know.” 

“ Have you an idea where Basil may be? ” 

“ On his way to Russia.” 


350 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


“Russia!” Hester started and gazed appalled on 
Count Alexis. 

“ I knew that in his preseht mood the farther he 
could escape from America the more chance he would 
have for calmness and strength to face the conse- 
quences of his crime as it affected his future.” 

“ But to — Russia ! ” 

“Does Russia seem so far — too far?” Count 
Alexis’ fine face was eloquent with an expression 
Hester did not notice ; for, lost in painful and amazed 
thought, she was again gazing over the sea. 

“It seems very, very far,” she answered dreamily, 
“but then” — and her lovely face was turned to 
her companion, beaming with thankfulness. “Oh, 
how much I owe you ! how much Basil owes you ! 
For it is to you we are both indebted for this 
kind, wise thought. I am also sure you deepened 
grandfather’s benevolent intentions by your words, 
3"our — It is so!” as she caught the half-smile 
of her companion. “Now tell me what Basil will do 
in Russia. Oh, I feel another creature ! ” and re- 
lieved from the overpowering burden of anxiety and 
fear that had so harassed her, she was again the 
Hester Count Alexis had first seen at Bar Har- 
bor and studied with an interest of which she was 
unconscious. 

“ But first, may I know how you communicated with 
my brother ? ” 

“ I was aware when your grandfather’s letter, en- 
trusted to Clinton, would reach Basil, and I surmised 
that he would rush immediately from Mount Desert. 


FLIGHT, 


351 


I at once wrote a letter to follow him to his club in 
New York: I was sure he would seek that familiar 
haunt before deciding on any course.’’ 

“ Oh, how thoughtful ! how kind ! And Basil?” 

“ As gently as possible I told him what his grand- 
father had confided to me : that all now depended on 
himself, whether the world should know, or be igno- 
rant of, his crime. I offered him the supervision of 
some of my estates in Russia and a secretaryship — 
both very remunerative.” 

“And he?” Hester’s eyes were brimming with 
grateful tears. 

Count Alexis handed her Basil’s answer. 

“Oh, my dear, dear brother ! ” she murmured while 
reading his broken expressions of thankfulness and 
obligation to his “ best and wisest friend,” his peni- 
tence and full confession to his “only helper in a 
time of dire suffering and necessity.” He accepted 
the home in far-away Russia as a safe and blessed 
spot in which to atone and make restitution — too 
good for such as he. 

Evidently Basil was much changed, though not yet 
all Hester yearned to have him. 

“ But it will come ! it will come ! ” She felt a 
happiness and peace that had not been hers in her 
anxiety for her wayward, reckless brother since her 
mother’s death left her alone. 

“ And what of Gudule? When Basil is established, 
would she live in Russia ? ” 

“ She cannot be deeply attached to your brother if 
the distance causes a moment’s hesitation.” 


362 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


“ That is true.” 

“Then you do not really think” — eagerly began 
Alexis Viazemski, and paused. 

“ That it is too far for me to seek Basil? Oh, no ! ” 
her face radiant, her heart joyfully beating and abso- 
lutely unconscious of the import of Count Alexis’ 
unfinished sentence. 

“ But Basil does not mention me.” 

“ Oh, yes. I received another note in which he 
devises for 3^ou a monthly allowance that will relieve 
you from all present and future anxiety.” 

Hester did not know that, for her sake. Count 
Alexis had given Basil such remuneration for his serv- 
ices as would permit him to guard his sister from all 
pecuniary embarrassment. 

“ You know the contents of the will Basil de- 
stroyed ? ” 

‘ ‘ When your grandfather confided in me he gave 
me its details.” 

“ All is to flow in those same channels? ” 

“ No. Mr. Harcourt prepared another will that 
Clinton and I witnessed. That divided his estate to 
suit later views ; but its contents are not to be di- 
vulged until six months after the day of his death.” 

“ Then nothing can be done at present.” 

“ No ; provided your brother has honestly com- 
plied with your grandfather’s just requirements. 
When I make known that there is a will in my posses- 
sion, Mr. Harcourt’s lawyers will not know but that he 
alone destroyed the will they witnessed, and Basil will 
be entirely shielded.” 


FLIGHT. 


353 


“ How tender a heart grandfather carried beneath 
his bitterness ! ” exclaimed Hester, overcome by this 
consideration for her brother and lamenting the har- 
assing misunderstandings that had separated them at 
Ullescliffe. 

“ Did I not thus assure you that evening on Green 
Mountain? I have rarely met one, so wronged in his 
own estimation, who so relented and delicately sought 
to save the offender.” 

Hester’s tears were falling. 

“ Should none of your grandfather’s property come 
to you and Basil, can you still believe in his affection?” 

“Perfectly! To know he loved me, and Basil, 
above all, who so angered and distressed him, is 
enough. You know we never anticipated any remem- 
brance. I will gladly assist my brother. I am sure 
there is some special work for me somewhere, so that 
I need be no burden to Basil and Gudule.” 

Hester’s heart was very hopeful, her eyes very 
bright, and the tones of her young voice were cheery. 
The relief from crushing shame and anxiety had ren- 
dered all else in life easy. 

“ It rests alone with you, certainly,” said Count 
Alexis, forbearing to mar her brave and tranquil mood 
by any reference to himself. 


CHAFFER XXXVII. 


“ CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN.’' 

ESTER rose from her rocky seat on the shore, 



exclaiming, “Look where the clouds are break- 
ing ! Nature sympathizes in my release from dread 
and pain. Could any blue be lovelier than that stain- 
less azure ? The sun is pouring on me his benediction 
too ! ” as a great burst of beauteous light illumined 
the before somber sea and shore with an enchanting 
radiance. 

Rustoff uttered a joyous “ wouff ! woufif!” at the 
changed atmosphere, rolling over and over on a bunch 
of rose geranium that had dropped from Olga’s gir- 
dle. It was a perfume in which he delighted as fully 
as in all piny, aromatic scents of gums and eastern 
herbs. The Pomeranian had been unusually quiet 
during the conversation of his mistress’ father and 
Miss Wilmerding. 

“ It is not one to be interrupted,” quoth he to Olga, 
who did not interpret his opinion conveyed by sensi- 
tive, pointed ears and intelligent, large, dark eyes. 
The sympathy with human moods and interests natural 
to dogs was keen and alert in Rustoff ; he often 
wondered why so few understood his own special 
fancies and aversions. With sweeping snowy plume 
carried high, dazzling, imposing ruff and dignified 
bearing, he bore his testimony to the seriousness of 


354 


SHINING AFTEB BAINN 365 


the occasion. Hester was the only person at Bar 
Harbor, before Jack Bolton was received into favor, 
from whom Rustofif would permit any expression of 
amity or admiration. On first seeing her he had sur- 
veyed her critically, then deliberately walked forward 
and laid his pointed, black muzzle on her knee. After 
that token of unmistakable approval Hester might 
place her hand on his snowy head, while he evidently 
enjoyed her understanding of his character and ad- 
miration of his person. 

On seeing Hester rise from the rock — the confer- 
ence concluded — he no longer controlled the energy 
and gayety of his nature. Espying the rose-geranium 
leaves he sprang on them ; then leaping to his feet 
and shaking himself into order for his return walk, 
trotted happily in front of Olga, while Count Alexis 
holding his little daughter’s hand, walked by the side 
of Hester Wilmerding. 

With elastic step, the index of a relieved and deeply 
grateful heart, Hester met the De Rosamberts, Miss 
Conway, and Nelly, as she approached the more pop- 
ulous portion of Bar Harbor. Her beaming glance, 
smiling lips, and the happy carriage of her head, all 
indicated a new creature. She was mutely singing 
a verse of Faber’s her mother had believed and re- 
joiced in : — 

111 that God blesses is our good, 

And unblest good is ill; 

And all is right that seems most wrong — 

If it be God’s dear will. 

Amazed but delighted, her four friends noted her 


356 


AT MOUNT DESEBT, 


changed expression and bearing. Was she the girl 
who, pallid, nervous, and sorrowful, had so appealed 
to their sympathy? Gudule, who had not known the 
secret of Hester’s agonized dejection, and yet had been 
frightened and pained, still rejoiced in this atmosphere 
of sunshine and peace. 

Henri de Rosambert, mistaking, naturally, the cause 
of her altered demeanor, thought he saw before him two 
who were blessed in their mutual understanding, and 
would not permit himself to envy their happiness. 

Miss Conway could only murmur to herself : “ Bless 
the child ! How thankful I am she is at last the 
Hester she must have been before Basil worried and 
oppressed her ! But where is that graceless brother? 
She has doubtless learned some glad tidings, and 
Count Viazemski is their bearer ! ” 

Keen-sighted but trustworthy Miss Patty ! She 
communicated her impressions to no one, but she so 
spoke of Basil Wilmerding later that all believed 
they must have condemned him hastily and unjustly. 
Hester’s happy face confirmed their opinion. 

Excusing herself on reaching the hotel, Hester 
hastened to the apartments of Madame de Chavigni. 
One glance at her face and Constance read that the 
heavy burden existed no longer. 

“ Ah, I am so thankful for you, my dear, dearest 
Hester ! ” she cried, enfolding the girl and kissing her 
with a mother’s tender, congratulatory sympathy. 

“Yes; give thanks for and wdth me. I am the 
happiest creature in Bar Harbor ! Oh, how terrible 
the darkness was, and what a contrast this God-given 


^^CLEAB SHINING AFTER RAIN:'> 357 


radiancy of summer is ! ” and Hester burst into tears 
of joy and gratitude. 

“ I can only tell you that I am at rest concerning 
my dear brother.” 

“‘At rest/” repeated Constance. “What rare 
and blessed words in this storm-tossed world ! Can 
you believe that at last I too am at rest ? ” 

There was indeed a new light shining on the beauti- 
ful face which Hester had always beheld so pale 
and sad. 

“After these many years of shadow, groping, tor- 
ture, and rebellion to what had been decreed me, came 
a lifting of the gloomy clouds that had ‘ curtained my 
sky from pole to pole.’ I wakened this morning with 
my burden gone, ‘ wearing the garment of praise for 
the spirit of heaviness,’ with a tender, loving heart 
where had lain a heavy stone.” 

“And how?” murmured Hester, with her arm 
around the slender figure of the Creole lady. 

“ How did the blessing come to me ! From God,” 
was the low, clear, reverent answer. “ He comforted 
and healed me in a dream of his own bestowment : I 
was standing by Zelma’s grave, weeping ; not alone 
for her loss, but for the awful loneliness of my life, 
separated from my child and husband. Real love does 
not weaken, Hester. To-day my dear ones are dearer 
than the moment they were torn from me ! ‘ What am 

I to do with this love that increases ; this grief that 
never ceases ; this desolation that never lessens ? ’ I 
asked myself in my dream. 

“There was no answer, Hester, save in the sad. 


358 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


wild cry of the lonely sea. I raised my eyes from 
Zelma’s grave and beheld One standing before me — 
the divine One, thorn-crowned, hand and feet nail- 
marked as he had hung upon his cross of agony. In 
his eyes shone such an ocean of love, tenderness, and 
sympathy that as I gazed my spirit was bathed and 
healed. I fell at his feet, and his hand lay in bene- 
diction on my head. He vanished : and I rose a new 
creature from that touch and presence, my heart calm, 
resigned, peaceful. I looked back unraurmuringly on 
what had been ; on the present and future as Christ’s 
present and future, wherein I was to live and labor 
and love others for and in him — his service my solace 
and joy.” 

Hester reverently raised the hand that lay in hers 
and touched it with her lips ; she could not speak : 
but there floated into her mind the picture of her 
friend’s future : — 

Wouldst thou the Holy Hill ascend 
And see the Father’s face? 

To all his children humbly bend 
And seek the lowest place. 

Be like a cotUige on the moor, 

A covert from the wind, 

With burning fire and open door, 

And welcome free and kind. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


GOLDEN-ROD AND SCARLET SUMACH. 

T HP] hotels were closed, for the season at Mount 
Desert was over. Mrs. Bolton, who always re- 
mained through September and October, had insisted 
on her friends spending their last fortnight at Bay- 
view. 

When the days were bright and mild, they lived 
out-of-doors ; when chilly and cloudy, they gathered 
round great fires of glowing birch logs kindled on the 
broad hearth of every beautiful room. 

Under the deep blue sky, in the deliciously warm 
September, lay the gently swaying Atlantic. The 
witchery of early autumn was in the air, the soft 
serenity that so enhances the days glowing with golden- 
rod and scarlet sumach and the orange, russet, and 
ruby tints of clustering trees. Dusky were the deep 
green cedars, hemlocks, and evergreens ; gold the 
birch and larch. In the contrasted gloom and glow of 
the woods carpeted with tanned, fragrant pine needles, 
crimson vines trailed and ferns waved amber and 
brown. In those quiet, haz}^, dreamy days the softest 
whisper of the wave was heard on the beach, and the 
fleecy clouds lying on the radiant azure seemed asleep. 

The friends, so soon to part, were floated by the 
Sea Gull hither and thither over the tranquil sea, bid- 
ding adieu to well-loved Schooner Head, Anemone 


359 


360 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Cave, Great Head, Thunder Cave, the shining New- 
port Sands, and Otter Cliffs. Slowly sailing back in 
brilliant moonlight doubled all the charm, renewing 
regrets that there were not more days and evenings 
to linger amid the fascinations of the lovely, noble 
islands, mountains, streams, lakes, forests, and the 
circling, ever-changing sea. 

The friends went up Green and Newport mountains 
for a farewell view from their lofty crests, and took a 
last walk through Duck Brook Glen. Across the 
stream the boughs of golden birches interlaced ; ma- 
ples burned a rosy red, and moose wood royal purple. 
The silence, the sweetness, the sunshine that rested 
on ' this lovely lonely glen were hard to leave. When 
would they enjoy it together again? 

A last bay drive and ocean drive ; a last drive 
through the Gorge ; a last visit to Eagle Lake and 
Echo Lake, where still floated the water lilies’ great 
broad leaves, albeit the snowy flowers had vanished 
till another summer. 

It was the last evening they were to spend at Bar 
Harbor. The clear moonlight and mellow air tempted 
Mrs. Bolton and her guests to enjoy a farewell drive 
and walk along the road leading to Great Head. Out 
above the cliff they stood, fascinated by the silvery 
Atlantic, the dashing breakers and the savage, silent 
grandeur of the mighty rock ever facing sea and sky 
unmoved by the giant, immeasurable force of the one, 
or the wildest gale that ever swept across the dread 
breadth of the other ! 


GOLDEN-ROD AND SCARLET SUMACH. 361 

Gudule, who had heard that day from Basil, was 
unutterably thankful, and wistfully gazed across the 
moonlit sea that soon would be no barrier to the 
happiness of reunion. 

Olga and Rustoff flitted on by Jack and Helen, the 
Pomeranian constantly evincing his remembrance of 
the friend who had delivered him from his cavern- 
prison on Burnt Porcupine. 

Madame de Chavigni, Miss Conway, and Mrs. Bolton 
stood together, the face of the Creole lady most beau- 
tiful in the serenity that now illumined each perfect 
feature. She gazed oftener at Geoffrey and Meta 
than at the sea, happy in their happiness ; then 
turned toward Hester. 

Though standing between Henri de Rosambert and 
Count Alexis, the girl’s thoughts were apparently with 
neither. Her gaze rested on the gleaming Atlantic 
or was raised to the great blue, star-sown, moon-illu- 
mined sky. 

“ How unwilling I was to come to Mount Desert ! ” 
she was thinking. “Yet here, in spite of much 
anxiety, shame, and sorrow, I have found my deepest 
happiness. The rest of heart I now feel in remem- 
bering Basil I never knew till the last sharp trial 
forced me to believe that One supreme in love and 
wisdom had permitted each incident ; for thus alone 
could good be developed in spite of evil — and even 
through it.” 

“You will be content to remain at Miss Conway’s, 
with Madame de Chavigni, till you can rejoin your 
brother ? ” asked Count Alexis when Arthur Carroll 


362 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


had drawn Henri de Rosambert to another part of the 
cliff. 

“Oh, yes! Waiting now is not what it meant 
two months since. Having known the worst, I have 
nothing to fear.” 

“ But you might go to Basil at once.” 

“ At once? Oh, no. My brother cannot yet afford 
to send for me.” 

“May I tell you there was one wish your grand- 
father cherished for your future?” 

“ A desire for my happiness? ” 

“That he thought would ensure it, if you” — 

Count Alexis paused and Hester waited, misunder- 
standing his emotion. 

“ How much you loved him ! ” she exclaimed grate- 
fully, fervently. 

“ How much I love — you ! O Hester, have I hid- 
den my heart so utterly all these months ? Do you not 
yet know you are so dear — so precious to me that life 
without you has little charm? Yes; that you are to 
me ! ” he exclaimed, unconsciously speaking in his 
own expressive, sweet, mellow Russ. 

“ You grieve me — amaze me ! ” began Hester, and 
could say no more. “Oh, how ungrateful I must 
seem to you!” she added, after a moment’s pause — 
“ to you, to whom Basil and I owe all that was most 
merciful and tender in grandfather’s altered feeling. 
You saved my brother from utter despair — perhaps 
self -sought death. Oh, I can never, never” — 

“ Think of the little I was so happy to perform as 
due your grandfather. I cannot ask for a response 


GOLDEN-BOD AND SCARLET SUMACH. 363 


to my feeling for you on that plea,” answered Count 
Alexis, regarding her with honest, sorrowful eyes. 
“ Your love to Basil must teach you that you have no 
love for me.” 

“Ah, remember what weeks and months of over- 
whelming anxiety and pain these at Mount Desert have 
been. Basil was my only thought. I never remem- 
bered myself apart from him. I felt all my life was 
dedicated to one aim — that of saving my dear 
brother. And you — not I — have saved him,” she 
added brokenly. 

“ For your dear sake,” was the rejoinder, in those 
heart-searching tones which she already felt were 
more swift and potent to touch her than those of any 
other. 

But Mrs. Bolton came hastening forward, impera- 
tively summoning her friends to return to Bayview ; 
therefore what Count Alexis would have further said 
and Hester responded was reserved for another hour. 

“Our last evening at Mount Desert — for how 
long ? ” asked Hester as she parted from Madame de 
Chavigni that night. 

“We may hope, look forward to next summer; 
unless you are then in — Russia?” 

“ That is possible ; but hardly probable.” 

“ I have been looking over my past life, Hester. 
When I came to Mount Desert I do not believe there 
was a creature in its whole beautiful length and 
breadth so hopeless and wretched as I. You know 
how God willed here to deliver me. I have just found 


364 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


a thought that will be helpful for all time to come — 
no matter what the trial. See ! I have written 
‘ Mount Desert, September 29,’ against the page, to 
link the true, brave words with this dear island, where 
it pleased God to set me at liberty from my woeful 
sorrow : — 

As soon as God’s children deal with him about their captivity, 
under whatever grief, discipline, or anguish they may be experi- 
encing, they become at once “the prisoners of the Lord.’’ Saint 
Paul recognized no power of Rome to bind him; he was the 
Lord’s prisoner. Joseph of old could see something more than 
Potiphar’s hand in his imprisonment; he was at large in spirit 
because “ the Lord was with him.” 

In the course of our life’s journey, all of us know what it is to 
be prisoners — held by this, chained by that, restrained by the 
other thing. We are none of us what we believe we could be 
under more favorable circumstances. But are we prisoners of 
“circumstance,” or of the Lord? of man or of the Lord? Whose 
hand do we see shutting us in? Who has the key of our prison- 
house? With whom do we deal about the circumstances in which 
we are placed? Are we looking at our life and its discipline from 
above — as Jeremiah did, who recognized his God in all — or are 
we struggling from beneath as Zedekiah did until he forced God to 
augment his suffering and shame to the utmost? Oh, let us believe 
— and hold fast this truth — that there is mercy in the seeming 
severity of God. His chastening — when we rebel and fret against 
it — becomes intolerable; but the same chastening, accepted from 
his wise and tender hand — irrespective of the persons or circum- 
stances, the physical or financial condition through which it may 
wholly and only seem to come — changes at once the nature of the 
trial. 

The oppression of man is then turned into the lessons of God ; 
the weakness of the body is then an opportunity for the power of 
Christ to rest upon us; the thwarting of our plans becomes then 
a chance to surrender them all before the absolute wisdom of our 
unerring God — and thus the whole atmosphere of our discipline 
is changed, purified, exalted. It has become divine, not human; 
heavenly, not earthly. 


GOLDEN-ROD AND SCARLET SUMACH, 366 


Let us therefore earnestly pray never to resist God and never 
to ignore God in the circumstances or trials of our life that he per- 
mits. Remember that he ordained that his favored land should 
“ lie desolate until the land had enjoyed her Sabbaths ; for as long 
as she lay desolate she kept Sabbath to fulfill threescore and ten 
years.” There may be a need for Sabbath-keeping, for lying fal- 
low, in the life of some one who reads these pages. O reader, do 
not resist God if he lays you aside from your most loved work ; if 
you seem to be imprisoned on every side ; if suffering is your 
portion; if an unutterable trial is your daily companion ; and if 
your discipline seems cruel, unnecessary, and too prolonged, yield 
yourself to God; consent to be his prisoner. By and by he will 
turn your captivity “ as the streams in the south,” and the chasten- 
ing by which you have been disciplined and tested will work in 
you “ the peaceable fruits of righteousness.” 


Madame de Chavigni closed the book with a tender 
smile of resignation and thankfulness. “ Those words 
were written for me,” she said. “I am the ‘ some 
one who reads these pages.’ May I never forget their 
teaching ! And now, good-night, dear Hester ; and 
let us hope we may spend next summer — many sum- 
mers — in this sweet, sweet spot, to which I shall 
hasten with so many grateful memories.” 


From the steamer gliding away from Maine the next 
morning the picturesque shore of Mount Desert was 
receding farther and farther, its mountains fading 
against the blue sky. Hester, the most sorrowful of 
the party at leaving the beautiful island, leaned 
silently against the side of the steamer. Would 
she ever see Mount Desert again? she questioned 
wistfully. 

“ When one owns a nook on that lovely shore it is 


366 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


presumable he will return,” said Count Alexis, who 
was standing by her. 

“ Ah, yes ; but I own no nook there, or anywhere,” 
answered Hester, with an unusual and unconquerable 
dejection. 

“I have kept a pleasant surprise for you till now,” 
laying in her hand a “ deed of gift of Ullesclifife and 
all land pertaining thereto.” 

“ Your grandfather desired you should own the 
beautiful cottage where he first learned to know and 
love you.” 

“Mine? Always mine? Oh, dear, dear grand- 
father ! ” cried Hester, happy, sorrowful tears cloud- 
ing the farewell vision of the islands studding the sea, 
between which the steamer was gliding on. 

“ Ullescliffe is so large that I can have all my friends 
with me next summer. Oh, how little I dreamed this 
happiness was on the wing to me this morning ! ” 

Hester’s tears and smiles of grateful joy drew the 
little party around her to learn what was as surprising 
to them as it had been to her. 

“You will all come? You will all like to come to 
me?” she asked wistfully. Eager were the promises. 
Gudule alone hesitated. 

“ Basil will then be in America,” said Hester. 
“You will both come to me on your bridal trip. Oh, 
how welcome you will be ! ” 

This amazing and charming gift from her grand- 
father so illumined the present and the future, that in 
the certainty of returning to Mount Desert to a home 
of her own Hester was the blithest of the party ; 


GOLDEN-BOD AND SCABLET SUMACH. 367 


a joyousness softly blended with tender love and 
thankfulness to the dear, dear one who had so thought- 
fully, sweetly remembered her, and her attachment to 
Ullescliffe’s beauty and many memories connected with 
her mother’s father. 

Rustofif was leaping against her knee, seeking to 
express his sympathy with her unknown but evident 
pleasure. 

“ You too shall come, Rustoff ! ” stroking his snowy 
head. “Without your ‘wouff! wouff!’ and engag- 
ing ways. Mount Desert would lack one charm — you 
loyal beauty ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXrX. 


FINIS. 

I ’N January the six months appointed by Mr. Har- 
f court expired. The air of New York was clear 
and bracing, the sky brilliantly blue. A light fall 
of snow was fast disappearing in the warmth of the 
genial sun. 

Hester, who, with Madame de Chavigni, had passed 
the months since leaving Mount Desert with Miss 
Conway, was awaiting the arrival of her brother. 
Count Alexis, and Olga, on that day’s steamer. But 
not only did Basil, Count Alexis, Olga, and Rustoff 
appear, but Basil’s bride, Gudule, to whom he had 
been wedded in Paris on his way home from St. 
Petersburg. 

This was his joyful surprise for Hester, and the 
girl embraced her sister most tenderly and delightedly. 

Henri de Rosambert was to come over in July for 
rest from his unremitting work in France, and once 
more, with Arthur Carroll, the friends were all to meet 
that summer at their beloved and beautiful Mount 
Desert. 

The next morning the solemn firm of Boultby & 
Cassiton awaited the entrance of Hester, Basil and 
his wife, and Count Viazemski, to read the will of 
their late honorable client — John Merrick Harcourt, 


FINIS. 


369 


deceased ; also, in advance, to present to Miss Wil- 
merding a note forwarded to them last summer, to be 
delivered before the reading of her late grandfather’s 
will. 

The long-unseen and familiar handwriting touched 
Hester almost as keenly as a sudden glimpse of his 
face or the clasp of his hand. 

The note was most affectionate, saying she had won 
so deep a place in his love that he, thinking she might 
not know this, was fain to tell her and give her his 
warmest blessing and prayers for her lifelong happi- 
ness. What more he had to convey as proof of his 
love his last will would reveal to her. 

With the exception of one third of the property 
willed to Basil, all her grandfather’s large possessions 
were bequeathed to Hester. 

Basil, who had expected no token of undeserved 
amity and had only appeared because he was legally 
summoned, first flushed, then became so pallid that 
Gudule sprang up for water and restoratives. 

“No! no!” he murmured. “It is the remem- 
brance — the forgiveness — the blotting out of what 
had made me too, too unworthy ! ” 

Gudule, who did not understand the sentence, only 
partially heard, was at a loss to comprehend the un- 
disguised emotion of her husband ; but Hester clasped 
his hand, learning in those few words that her most 
earnest, ceaseless prayer for her brother had been 
answered. 


Once more at Mount Desert, where the ocean was 


370 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


reflecting the azure of the sky. All the well-remem- 
bered marvel and beauty of its varied scenery were 
enjoyed again on that summer’s program of enjoy- 
ment, as Hester with Madame de Chavigni awaited her 
promised guests at Ullescliffe cottage. It had been 
enlarged by a wing of noble proportions, containing 
five spacious apartments graced by bay and oriel win- 
dows. Its wide veranda met the piazza of the origi- 
nal picturesque residence, and, with its awning and 
commodious seats, commanded portions of the ex- 
quisite view of sea, islands, mountains, and shore. 
Hester was well-pleased with her lovely home, so soon 
to contain all she desired, when her dear friends 
should at last be gathered around her. 

Her twenty-second birthday was celebrated during 
their visit. 

Basil, standing in one of the large bay windows of 
the library by his sister’s special table, was examining 
with much interest her many gifts, characteristic of 
each friend who had eagerly sought to gratify some 
taste or wish of their youthful hostess. 

Olga’s offering was a rare and delicate necklace of 
moonstones, with a card on which was inscribed : — 

FROM RUSTOFF AND MISS HESTER’S LOVING LITTLE 
“ MOONFLOWER ” : 

In remembrance of the evening on Green Mountain last summer. 

Basil deciphered the inscription with an answering 
and most painful thrill of memory. That evening was 
the beginning of his real awakening to the true mean- 
ing and possible dark results of his reckless deed. 


FINIS, 


371 


From what had not his grandfather's forbearance 
saved him ! He could not dwell on the wrecked life, 
the dishonored name, the enduring shame that would 
have been his portion, without a repentance and grati- 
tude that each day widened and deepened. The 
ancient law that what one sowed one always reaped 
had been justified in his own mental suffering ; but 
most mercifully, undeservedly, had he been shielded 
from the betrayal of his sowing to a curious, un- 
sympathetic public. To a forbearance and forgive- 
ness higher than his grandfather’s, Basil’s penitence, 
gratitude, and reverence were due; and his life — un- 
known to all — was an offering to that remembrance. 
Having settled on Gudule, and the children which 
might be given her, the wealth bequeathed him by his 
grandfather, he labored day after day and month after 
month, with ceaseless effort and self-denial, to realize 
a certain amount for a purpose he revealed to no one. 
Long ere it was accomplished, his beloved and loyal 
sister had gone to Russia as the happy wife of Alexis 
Viazemski, and the devoted mother-sister of the 
delighted little “ moonfiower.” Rustoff, no less, en- 
chanted, claimed her as “ one of the family,” giv- 
ing an obedience and attachment unquestioning and 
fervent. 

The next year Helen Armitage, as the wife of 
Henri de Rosambert, was an absorbed and joyous 
worker in Paris, assisting her husband in his every 
labor of love and winning many of the hearts of the 
poor of the great city by her ready sympathy and 
wise, gentle counsels in their hours of need. 


372 


AT MOUNT DESEBT. 


Geoffrey Hatton and Meta were most earnestly 
welcomed in the two homes in Paris and Saint Peters- 
burg. With Miss Conway and Madame de Chavigni, 
the friends expect to be reunited next summer at 
Mount Desert. Neither Hester nor Count Alexis 
could relinquish Ullescliffe to strangers. 

It was on Hester’s last visit that Basil revealed the 
cherished purpose of his life. His unremitting labor 
was painfully visible in face and form, yet his coun- 
tenance was so peaceful and his voice such an index 
of a heart at rest that Hester could not remonstrate. 
He had accepted no assistance even from his sister ; 
nor had he used the slightest fraction of his grand- 
father’s bequest to advance his arduous undertaking. 
Once, when strength seemed failing, he had accepted 
an unexpected gift from a distant cousin as a token 
of divine approbation and immediately consecrated it 
to his work. 

“ I sinned and I must atone. I can not, dare not 
offer what costs me nothing, Hester. It is my thanks- 
giving to God for forgiveness and concealment of my 
crime from the world’s knowledge and justly merited 
condemnation. I am now almost ready to build a 
home and chapel for criminals who have served their 
term of imprisonment. Broken in health as many 
are, or frowned upon and distrusted for their past, 
numbers find it almost impossible to obtain situa- 
tions among the upright of their day and generation. 
They know not where to turn during the agonizing, 
overwhelming space that intervenes. The home will 
shelter them ; and the teachings of a chaplain, ‘ mer- 


FINIS. 


373 


ciful and faithful,’ and ‘ who can have compassion on 
those who are out of the way,’ will save many and 
many a poor fellow — my brothers — from despair or 
worse. May God bless and help them as he has 
forgiven, blessed, and helped me to thus remember 
and atone ! for to his blessing I owe the wish, will, 
and power to have won the requisite means for the 
undertaking.” 

“ God will give you your heart’s desire, my dear, 
dear Basil ! ” cried Hester, her arms around his neck, 
her voice broken with emotion, and her whole heart 
thrilling with joy and thanksgiving that at last she 
could honor, as she had longed to honor, her only 
brother. 

We read a legend of a monk who painted 
In an old convent cell in days bygone — 

Pictures of martyrs and of virgins sainted. 

And the sweet-faced Christ with crown of thorn. 

“Poor daubs — not fit to be a chapel’s treasure!” 

Pull many a taunting word upon them fell; 

But the good abbot let him for his pleasure 
Adorn with them his solitary cell. 

One night the poor monk mused, “Could I but render 
Honor to Christ as other painters do, 

Were but my skill as great as is the tender 
Love that inspires me when his cross I view! 

But no; 'tis vain I toil and strive in sorrow; 

What man so scorns still less can He admire; 

My life’s work is all valueless; to-morrow 
I ’ll cast my ill-wrought pictures in the flre.’^ 

He raised his eyes within his cell — oh, wonder! 

There stood a Visitor, thorn-crowned was he. 

And his sweet voice the silence rent asunder — 

“ I ’ll scorn no work that ’s done for love of me.” 


374 


AT MOUNT DESERT. 


Around the walls the paintings shone resplendent 
With lights and colors to this world unknown; 

A perfect beauty and a hue transcendent 
That never yet on mortal canvas shone. 

There is a meaning in this strange old story — 

Let none dare judge his brother’s worth or need; 
The pure intent gives to the act its glory — 

The noblest purpose makes the noblest deed. 


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